


Che Mala Fortuna

by EvoIIICE9A



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2018-04-17 14:53:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 91,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4670846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvoIIICE9A/pseuds/EvoIIICE9A
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the fate of Thedas has fallen upon you, you can not expect everything to run smoothly. Starting with the loss of Haven, a run of bad luck has fallen upon them. How will the Inquisition cope?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome :) This is the first works that I have written in about 5 years so I will start now by saying this is going to be pretty rusty.
> 
> The Inquisitor in this works is also my own Inquisitor, normally I don't write main character OC's but is this classed as an OC since personalities really are determined through the inputs of the games? Hmm, I will ponder this.
> 
> Most of the works features part through the canon story or interpretations on them. Hopefully nothing too weird.
> 
> Any feedback, creative criticism, kudos are appreciated. Being able to grow in writing is awesome! Please enjoy.

“Varric. Hey Varric. Follow my fingers.”

The dwarf’s head sluggishly flopped to one side and then strained to move back in an attempt to follow the hand in front of his face. It wasn’t perfect but it was a start. “Either I am seeing triple because you are either holding up eleven fingers or… do you have eleven fingers and I didn’t even notice it?”

Triple equals eleven? That wasn’t exactly correct. At least he was responsive now which was much better than a few hours ago. With a sigh of relief, Rilien, the Dalish Elf who somehow earned himself the title of the Herald of Andraste, gave him a light tap on his shoulder, following through with a soft supporting squeeze. 

“Eleven is good. I’m surprised you can even speak with the amount of herbs you have been given. Trust me, you are going to be delirious for a week,” he replied with a light chuckle. “I’m going to send someone in to watch over you but if you feel the need to lose unconsciousness, make your head go backwards, not to the side. It will help your airways to stay open and less dying.” Yep, good to see that when faced with danger and uncertainty, one can still make jokes and remain in high spirits

“...Why are you telling me…?” Joking aside, why would he... “Oh no, you aren’t sending her…?”

With a harder slap on the shoulder and a wicked smirk, Rilien said his goodbye and quickly took his ominous leave. Outside it was another issue, the mood sombre, enough to make the young elf actively hold in his worried sigh, fighting the nervous reflex to run his fingers through his crimson hair. To come out of it like this, lucky to come out of it more like it. Had someone asked him a few hours ago if Varric was going to make it, even now… ugh, how did it go so wrong?

“He is fine and by fine I mean he is responsive. By responsive I mean, he’s probably going to live,” Rilien reassured the two eager people, waiting outside the tent. “Although I can’t guarantee that,” he continued, dropping the volume of his voice down lower, taking a step away to stop the travel of the news making it past the canvas flaps. “Varric was hit pretty hard, the bleeding has stopped. I don’t know if anything that has been given to him is helping but he isn’t in pain.”

Rilien paused, looking at the two faces trying to study any sort of reaction. Anything. “So what you are saying is all that worrying and shite was for nothing?” scoffed the blonde haired elf, crossing her arms with a huff.

“Ah Sera, so eloquent,” smirked the taller, devilishly handsome, bronzed man. “I think what he is more trying to say is that we are going to have to get him back to Skyhold soon as possible.” With the single digit stroking down the triangle of hair in the cleft on his chin, he could feel him trying to get a reading on his face. “Hmm, he doesn’t look panic stricken enough to suggest continuing onto Crestwood.”

“If that is the case then why are were waiting here, tits out when we should be travelling on?”

“What does that even mean? Is this some sort of Southerners slang or just the incoherent ramblings from the Red Jenny?”

Oh for the love of-... Nipping this in the bud now. “You see that massive storm front over there?” And in case either of them couldn’t work that out from the darkening grey mass of clouds rolling in, he pointed in the direction so they were definitely clear. “That is coming in will be upon us in less than an hour. We can not chance taking Varric out in that. What we are going to do is camp here for a few hours until it passes. Use this opportunity to rest up.” Rilien paused for a few moments. Silence. No retaliation, good. “Sera, you stay here and watch over Varric. Dorian, you will come with me. We need to scout for provisions and check to see if our surroundings are clear.”

They did just come from a battle after all. Who knows if someone or someones were following them and right now, they were in the best scenario for an ambush. One man down, the other two close to pulling faces at each other childishly like siblings. Sometimes, he wondered if he was chosen by Andraste to save them all or to become the most convenient babysitter.

“Eh, so why are you two going off? I have the bow. He just makes fireworks come out of his stick. Hehehe stick.” And there it was. Somehow, someway, Sera has the uncanny ability to make things highly inappropriate. “Betcha with that storm coming, he becomes a lightning rod.”

She was right though, Rilien had chosen her for a reason, the same as Varric to come along. It was meant to be a mission that required a high level of stealth, in and out quickly with swift, efficient kills. So why the mage? That was simple. He was the one with the best insider knowledge. A report had come in that Venatori scholars were camped out in the Storm Coast and paying some particular attention to the ancient dwarven ruins in the area. The plan that was put before them was simple, raid the camp catching them off-guard, eliminate whoever they could and then search the camp for clues. Personally keeping one or two alive for questioning would have worked more in their favour but there wasn’t anyone around but he was willing to listen to the advisors on this one.

Two archers on the perimeter picking up any of the loose stragglers while he snuck through in silence, assassinating who he could before they were noticed, which in theory should have been the entire camp. He miscalculated, scholars were not so easily defeated and… shit, fighting it out with mages was something still new to him. Weapons were easier to predict, they were attached to the user and no matter how much you try to hide it, your body gives tell-tale signs of when it is going to strike. Arrows while they were not directly attached to the reflexes, the trajectory could be determined through positioning. Not magic though, no, too many uncertainties. He couldn’t even be sure if it was magic or he lost his balance or something, whatever it was Varric was knocked back straight off the watchtower he had himself perched up in and straight onto a upward spike from the perimeter defence. Not that it was a colossal clusterfuck, in the end the remaining three were able to complete what they had set out to do but now they were here, one dwarf down.

Oh dear, his Inquisitor sense was tingling. Quickly, Rilien’s hand was up against Dorian’s chest, feeling that sudden shift of weight pressing against it as he stepped forward. The Tevinter mage was never one to be quiet, he was ready to defend his lineage at the drop of a hat but right now this wasn’t the time. Adding his own pressure in return, the Dalish gave him the silent command to back down and leave this to him. 

“Sera, you are going to be able to hear someone approaching even if you are in the tent watching over Varric. Dorian can’t do that, he would have to stand outside and keep watch the entire time and given how thick the humidity is starting to feel, it is going to ruin his perfect hair. We can’t have him with frizz now can we?” Another push against his hand, this time he knew that was directed at him but he couldn’t resist taking a jab at the mage’s high maintenance ways. “Think of all the blackmail material you could get out of Varric. His lips are loose and he is babbling. Wouldn’t that be fun to use against him later?”

Take the bait, please take the bait. If she didn’t then he was going to have to put his foot down and it was not something he wanted to do right now. “Bring me back something tasty to throw on the fire. Something meaty.” Success! Problem diffused.

Inwardly sighing, Rilien gave a soft couple of taps against Dorian’s chest telling him it was all over, backing away satisfied that no blood shed would happen tonight or more so right at that moment. The evening was still young and patrols still required. No more time to waste, those clouds were approaching fast and getting caught out in it was not something he wanted. Going over to the steed they had procured for their travels, he went through the additional weapons strapped to the packs on his back. He found what he wanted removing an archer’s bow and some arrows, securing the arrow hostler across his chest. Not his weapon of choice and he wasn’t overly proficient at it but when you tracking animals for food, from a distance is always a better place to be. Travel light, move quick. They were ready.

“We’ll be back soon.”


	2. Chapter 2

A droplet of water splashed on his forehead, continuing slowly down his cheek in a moist caress. Closing his eyes he took in the atmosphere, tilting his head up towards the sky, embracing the sweet scent of the first fall. Another and then another, thicker drops between the light mist reaffirming that the storm he predicted would fall upon them, had finally arrived. They never really had the time to appreciate moments like that these days, everything was bam, on the go, always focused, danger lurks behind every corner. While that was still true, even right now, he just wanted to block that all out be reminded of how mesmerizing nature is. No, that didn’t mean he was about to frolic in the wild naked. Elves didn’t do that, well no elves that he knew that wasn’t part of a dare or had one too many drinks involved. Come to think of it, that is probably now urban legends get started. 

“We need to start wrapping this up and heading back. The storm is starting and we have still yet to kill anything to eat. If we don't get something soon, Sera will not be happy.” As much as he was saying that, he wasn’t quick to move either, the smile growing wider, happy in his own nostalgic thoughts.

“... Make the water stop thrashing around like that. It’s making me...” A hand quickly slapped over his mouth, turning his head the opposite direction at the same time. “Maybe if I don’t look, I won’t lose what precious little food I have…” Lips tightly pursed together, the hand clamping down firmer to keep the rising substance in his throat on the inside. “...consumed.”

Was he for real? If there was any one member of the group who had the flair for the over-dramatic, it would be Dorian. Any situation that opposed his pristine and pampered lifestyle would be commented on negatively, even if it reflected towards his own party.

“So I take it that romantic boat rides on the Storm Coast seas are out? I would have thought you would have been into that. No need to have someone out here fanning you even, the gale force winds would do it all for you.” That is the most he had learned about the Tevinter Imperium in his short time of traveling around with his eclectic group. Crazed mages who sort insatiable power, who owned slaves and were always lavished in feathers, fans and grapes. And wine, don’t forget the wine.

No retort, just a long bellowing groan. Taking that was a sign of real distress, Rilien opened his eyes and looked back over his shoulder. Don’t think he was swaying around because of a tavern tune stuck in his head. Retracing his steps back down the path, he met back up with the sickly mage and took his hand, guiding him away from the cliff face that overlooked the blustery ocean. If it was making him sick then why would he continue to look at it? He must have been caught like a moth to a flame… or he was into some sort of masochistic self-punishment. Actually, given his history and the way he holds onto things, hmm, maybe some truth in that.

Sitting him down on a smooth cluster of rocks, he began a quick self-diagnosis. Oh, he really didn’t look good, even in the struggling lighting of dusk that was hindered by the thick grey matte of clouds, he could see the colour draining from his face. “Take deep breaths and don’t focus on what is out there, just focus on me,” Rilien instructed in a soft, calm tone, kneeling down on one bended knee to get them on the same level.

Deep inhale, slowly releasing for the exhale. Good, he was receptive to instructions, rewarded with soothing circles over his back and shoulder. “Are you feeling better? Here, I might have something to help.” Pulling his arm away from him, Rilien opened up the pouch strapped to his leg and started sifting through the contents.

Not knowing exactly what was causing his issue, he couldn’t be fully certain that it was going to help, taking the assumption that something was upsetting his tummy. So something with some gin-... hn, holy shit! Shooting pain suddenly hit causing an instant jerk reaction pulling his hand back out and balling it into a fist, pressing it tightly against his belly. Every muscle in his arm constricted and yet come alight at the same time, pressure pushing against his flesh making it feel like it would burst open and turn itself inside out. Just work it through, whatever it is, it will be fine. If he held his breath, it would help, just concentrate on pushing away the pain and it would be back to normal soon. Some moments later, the tension released which made his gasp for air. Holding your breath to make pain stop, not a recommended course of action.

Cautiously he opened his hand up, wriggling his fingers to work the tingling sensation through, wincing with every twitch of his tendons. It wasn’t the first time his hand had done this today, just not with such severity. On and off for the duration of the trek to the campsite, working the string on the bow when taking aim, it had been feeling... off. Like waking up from slumber and you had rested on it for so long that it had that dead numbness to it. That sort of thing. Obviously the focus was on his fallen comrades and so it got forgotten. Whatever it was, it would once again be pushed way back into his mind for future Rilien to worry about. The present had someone else to attend to.

Getting his composure back with a stiff exhale, Rilien dipped back into the pouch and continued the search, this time getting his hand on what he was after. “Sorry. Here, take this,” he offered the substance. Dorian was so preoccupied with his own ailments that he did not get his attention. The subtle approach was what he decided was for the best, a tender stroke of his fingernails on his palm. The movement was enough to grab his attention, smiling endearingly up at him. That’s the way, just focus on this and not on the nausea.

“Put this under your tongue and hold it in your mouth,” he instructed, placing a pinch of the loose leaf concoction into his hand. “It will settle your stomach,” the elf promised with a reassuring nod, following through in that same tranquil, heartened tone, “Just don’t swallow it. You will get diarrhoea.”

There was a pause, looking down between his eyes and his hand. He could see Dorian’s mind ticking over, wondering if the benefits outweigh the consequences if he got it wrong. Highly amusing if you asked him. Thankfully there was enough trust for him or he was just completely desperate and willing to try anything, either way the herbs went into the mouth which earned him a pat on the leg.

“Stay here, rest. When the flavour disappears, spit it out…”

_Crack!_

Within a blink of an eye, Rilien’s arm swung back and pulled the bow off from over his shoulder, the arrow positioned and the string pulled back taunt. Swift eyes scanned the surroundings quickly, efficiently, not hampered at all by the dimming light. Someone was out there! Someone was out there and they had been following them for a while now, the only issue was that he couldn’t see them. It was just a presence he was feeling, like a spirit but not something tied to the Fade. Cloaking? Part of his recent training was teaching him how to utilize the shadows more efficiently and given there was not enough light around to refract off the mass to make their position known, it was the perfect time to be using it. Could there have been an Assassin after them? One would assume that the Venatori had them and it had been trailing them all of this way, biding their time to strike...

“Baaaaah.”

Or maybe it was the Ram that he was tracking earlier. Ugh, it’s been a long day. Loosening the hold on the bow and giving his hand a quick couple of flicks to get rid of the awkward feeling that was back, the Dalish could only laugh off the sudden change. “I’m going to kill that Ram and it’s going to be our dinner.”

Sometime later, that Ram had not become their dinner. The only difference between then and now is that the heavens had opened up, the light droplets turning to dense stream of heavy drops that carried enough weight to hurt as they contacted with flesh. Let this be a lesson learned that when someone says return to camp, dawdling was not the best tactic. 

“You know, I could have easily killed it but watching you get frustrated, that was rewarding in itself.” Of course Dorian was right there to sneer at him, jerk. Help him out and this is what he gave him as repayment. Should have left him doubled over from seasickness. Would have kept him quiet.

“No!” he gasped out, holding his arm out in protest to keep him at a safe distance. “The last time you were near an animal, the Nug was obliterated. A pile of smelly charred goop. Magic explodes!”

Something was just throwing him off his game. Rilien was a skilled hunter, trained at a young age and proving himself worthy shortly after that with his first pelt of the Royal Bear presented. He was considered the one of the best Hunters of the Lavellan clan which is how he ended up in the predicament to begin with and yet this one easy prey was alluding him.

“And if I recall correctly, we were in the middle of a battle against some demons and that Nug was a casualty of war. My dear Inquisitor, I don’t go into a fight to mildly incapacitate. I go for the jugular.” The way the refined mage dragged out that last word would have been pure sex to some to hear him purr it like that, that regal accent could make panties drop in an instant. “But it doesn’t take a fool to see something is ailing you.”

Watching the young Inquisitor was something that he relished in, spending a lot of time behind him while they traveled. Not a complaint about that, he was a stunning specimen if he did say so himself. Besides the eye candy view, he also got to study his movements, how he fought, which was particularly useful when you wield the power of magic when one wrong move from them could see them a casualty of friendly fire. Literally, fire. He was quite a nimble little man, using his height to his advantage with lower to the ground attacks. Never would he go in blindly and wild like some of the bigger tanks would, each slice was with a purpose otherwise he would deplete his stamina which would make him more of a hindrance in any long, drawn out battle. Something he could understand. That was exactly the way Rilien was acting now, lethargic, clunky, like his stamina had run out. He counted four times where that Ram should have been bleeding out and ready to drag back to camp for a good roasting and yet, he continued to miss. And Dorian had an idea why.

“Give me your hand,” he commanded while grabbing the arm at the same time. In return he was faced with a slurry of words he did not understand, presumably Elven and even more likely to have been curses. An amusing curl of his lips upwards. No matter how much your culture dissipates, you always remember the swear words. “You are going to have to teach me that some time.” If the lightest of pressure from the grasp almost had him on the floor doubled over so something was seriously wrong.

Hmm, yep, that was not right. Rilien’s hand was ice cold. Using the back of his other hand, Dorian rubbed his fingers down his cheek. His usually golden complexion was draining of colour, much as he expected his own looking earlier on. The temperature of his skin was more of the troubling sign, cupping the other man’s cheek, tracing his fingers back and curling around his neck.

A soft chuckle between gritting his teeth. “Don’t tell me you are trying to hit on me now?” That is meant to be a joke, he was trying to make sure it come off like a joke. Right?

Trust this to happen. Trouble comes in threes and they had already had two so bring on the third. The longer he remained in a stationary position, the more apparent it was that he was sluggish, his body involuntarily slipping forward making everything violently spin. “Sorry,” he whispered, trying to recover from the stumble. As much as resting against the tone chest in front of him would have been such a tempting idea, the longer they stayed out, the worse it would get for everyone. “We need to leave.”

Again the similar sound of disturbance from something very close by made him jump back, using his other palm to rigidly push himself back out of the hold. Even in his weakened state, the elf was ready to defend them, spinning around to get free of Dorian’s path, reaching over his shoulder to grab his bow. Letting out a blood curdling scream, Rilien dropped to his knees, protectively sheltering the injured arm he just used without thinking. Make it stop! Throbbing heat spreading through his entire upper body, the pressure compressing his lungs making each breath harder and yet he was still trying to get to his feet, the battle was failed only by the crippling agony.

“There is someone here! ...Hn, ugh, I know… it.”

Twice reacting that someone was there was enough to make him look around, scanning the area for any signs of life, animal or otherwise that could be stalking them. His senses were not fine-tuned like a Hunter’s would be. Between the loud rustling of the trees and the howling winds thrashing them amount, the onslaught of heavy handed raindrops making it hard to open his eyes past a squint, Dorian couldn’t tell if anyone was about.

“Then we can’t stay out here,” he agreed, bending over and scooping his arm around chest, trying to pull him up from his defensive position. “There is a cabin we passed up ahead. We need to get there.”

Serving not only as instructions but as a pep talk to get him moving, Dorian breathed a sigh of relief when the dead weight became a more lightened load, feeling him push up with his feet to help bring him to a stand. There was no need to explain any further, making it clear to him with an arm around his back, hooking under his armpit for additional support. One step first, testing how he moves. A small whimper, his body shaking trying to suppress the hurt but not enough to stop them, taking his continual movement as enough to lead them back down the track to the cabin for some shelter.


	3. Chapter 3

Calling the cabin out as a shelter was a huge understatement. Thick layers of dark green moss plastered the outer walls, the roof was even sprouting little plants from the seeds that had been caught up in the wind, depositing them into the wood knots. Absolutely derelict. The door almost fell of the hinges as Dorian’s boot went into it to push it open. Worse than that, a foul musty stench hit them like a brick wall which was surprising since the room was very aerated from the gaps in the planks where the wood had rotted near the joints. Like ten wet Mabari decided to roll around and leave their scent. The roof was not in much better condition, only thing keeping the rain from coming in was the swelling of the rafters, otherwise one could guarantee if it dried out, it too would be riddled with holes. 

As much as they didn’t have much of a choice in the matter, the Tevinter could not help but audibly gag. “These clothes are going to have to be burned on return to Skyhold. Nothing will get the fetor out.”

Happy that he got his complaint out, his mindset was back into focus, looking around to where he could set his injured partner down. There was not much left in the room that could be useful. A bedside table that was, surprise surprise, made of wood and looked to be in the same ill state as the rest of the surroundings. The bed itself, perished. Slates were broken so nothing to support him. Whoever owned this house prior obviously put too much faith in wood and ignored the fact that the lived in an area that rained near on most of the year. The only option they had was the floor. When in a pinch, you had to use what you got. Giving him the warning that he was being set down, Dorian lowered himself and Rilien’s weight to a kneel, allowing him to continue through to the ground. Instead of laying on his back like expected, the Dalish rolled to his side, balling himself up in protection, shivering violently. Whatever it was, his hand, that hand, was the source of origin and the last thing they needed was a fade rift to open right above their heads.

“You are going to have to let me have a look at it?” he informed him, making a careful reach. There was no otherworldly iridescent green glow illuminating the room, no doom and gloom coming for them which was good. If the Mark has been tainted, they would be in a world of trouble.

But he needed to know how badly he was affected. No time to apologize, this would not go down well. Dorian took that chance, pushing his hand down the top of Rilien’s light armour, feeling around on his pectoral muscle with a couple of light presses, continuing best into the sleeve of his arm. Getting a better idea of what was going on with his body, he was really amazed that the young man was holding up so well. He has seen men, those burley types that you could take a physical attack to and it would not set them back, go down like a sack of shit, screaming at the top of their lungs and that was only in the early stages.

Okay, all the pieces of the puzzle was coming together, now he had to get his shirt off. Oh baby, we are here, alone and you are all vulnerable so I’m going to strip you off. One button after another, opening it up and exposing his chest. Mmm romantic. He was half expecting some sort of sarcastic retort in tone with his own musings to keep him mind sane during this taxing time. “At least take me out... to dinner.” And there it was. Good to see that spirit was not yet broken.

Just as he had expected. Ahh dear Inquisitor, how you look out for your team without even knowing it. “What do you want next? A bear skin rug and an open fire?”

Open fire would be the next on the agenda, something to dry off his clothes and work towards getting his temperature up. He was freezing from the inside out, confirmed with the pale skin of his chest tainted with a blue haze. The cold that started from his hand had been creeping through his upper body unbeknownst to Rilien, the chaos it would be doing to his insides. He had to act fast.

Kneeling down on the ground, he scooped the trembling elf up into his arms, supporting him under his neck, resting him over his knees. “We can at least get this started off with a delicious drink,” he mused, hand in his own supplies pouch, feeling around for the correct bottle. His had to be sorted out to use in a pinch, every one strategically placed so the blue liquid was easy to find. Maker, if you are listening, please let this help. 

“For your palette tonight, we have the Domaine de la Romanée-conti Grand Cru because wine loves to be named with farcical titles for the purpose of taking all of your gold.” After removing the cork from the bottle, he raised it to his lip and tilted it enough to start a slow trickle into his mouth. “Pay attention to the aromatic cassis bouquet that would be good paired with a good thick portion of Ram, if you managed to actually catch it.” Yep, feel that knife twist a little bit deeper. If he had only let him have a crack at it, they would have been going to bed with a fully belly tonight. “Notice how that body is very much a cliff-edge? Not a bit austere.” Ha! That was laughable. There was no tonic that he had come up against that did not taste like shit, no matter how much aromatics and essences you tried to dress it up with, that would be lingering on your taste buds for days.

The entire bottle had been consumed, a good sign. If there was significant improvement in a couple of minutes then that would be an even better sign. Still cold. Couldn’t expect miracles to happen. Any little bit of heat was going to help him, rubbing his chest gently enough not to cause more pain but hopefully enough to get some friction to help warm the muted flesh. “The things I do for you Inquisitor. You would never see Solas or Vivienne doing this for you. Just remember that the next time you are asked who the best mage in the group is. You are to say me.” And the better dressed one to boot. Also, had sensational hair… technically he was the only one that had hair. He was perfection in every little way and how it would get under the skin of those two for their beloved leader to state it as well.

“...Inquisitor?” Surely that would have got some sort of a rise out of him but there was nothing, nothing at all. In fact the only noise coming from the elf was the rasping gasps of air. He was breathing, shallowly but he was still breathing. It didn’t stop his heart from rising up in his throat, his insides tightening to the point of physical pain. “Rilien…?” he meekly called out again, bracing himself for the worse.

What if he was too late? Why did he have to keep his damn mouth shut all this time and hide it? If he had said something much earlier instead of throwing himself at everyone else’s needs then this could have been prevented. Dammit Lavellan, you are not dying here!

“...I’m not ...saying…”

A fleeting moment of happiness, the weight lifted off his shoulders knowing he was still alive, only that the elf’s weight then slumped down in his arms, unconscious. Swallowing up the lump in his throat, the mage knew he had to act quickly. That potion was enough to get the ball rolling but relying on that alone would not suffice. There was still a chance he would live through this because there was no way he wanted to return to that judgmental trio and tell them that he let thier Herald of Andraste die. He had walked out of the Fade twice so damn sure he would walk out of the Storm Coast!

\--------------------------

“...What happened?” The first sign of life came in a groan, eyelids softly fluttering open. “Did I pass out?” There was a good chance that would come through with a throbbing headache. “And how did a fire get in here?”

So many questions, ones that he didn’t mind answering. Just hearing his voice was something he was thankful for. “Lay there for a couple of minutes. Don’t get up quickly. You’ve been out for a few hours.”

It was the worst few hours he had ever suffered through, the emotional rollercoaster between anger and fear mostly induced by his own excessive thinking. Five hours was a long time to be alone with your thoughts, watching someone, a friend even, fight for life. A friend that they may have shared a couple of ephemeral moments together, a couple of brief kisses which really was not much at all. He had bedded other men in much faster time than it took for him to finally have one moment of embrace from the elf. Still didn’t stop him pacing, threatening his unconscious body, praying and then not caring.

“Also I present you breakfast in bed,” he smiled, presenting him with a glass filled with water. Water with particles floating in it. Look, he was lucky to find a cup in one of the cupboards and that was already caked with grime and you can’t put a glass outside in the rain and expect it to collect clean water. Particles catch in the breeze, the mud splashes back into it. Hydration was more important than impurities. He was quite proud of how resourceful he was. “And they say Tevintens don’t know how to take care of their slaves.”

A grunt as he pulled himself up, everything stiff from laying on the hard ground, his body still throbbing but nowhere pained as it was before. He took the glass from him, raised it to his lips and then stopped, sideways glancing at him. “... Did you just refer to me as a slave because I am an elf?”

“........” That was a slip of the tongue he did not see coming. In his defence his only interactions prior to the Inquisition were with elves that were in the slave trade, never had he met one directly that was of the free range variety. “Hmm, no, I didn’t say anything. Drink up, you need your fluids.” Obviously the best thing to do right now is brush over it like it never happened. But still, it raised the question, why did he say that?

“You would be happy to know that Varric is in high spirits and not dead,” Dorian mused while watching him drink. Probably should filter that through his teeth. Didn’t the Dalish drink water from rivers and streams anyway? Animals piss in those and they drank it. He’d be used to it. “When you were stable enough I went back to let them know what was going on and it helped me to complete the puzzle for how this all came about.”

Ugh, that water was repugnant. Rilien sipped at it, not wanting to hurt his feelings because it looked like he went to a lot of hard work to get this disgusting liquid. Did he, really? Or did he just scoop it out from a river bed? “That is a relief to hear that,” he replied with a soft sigh. A weight has been lifted off his shoulders with that revelation. “It doesn’t have anything to do with The Mark does it?”

“Why would you think that?” A pause to study and wait for a response. Nope, sipped his water instead. Looks like someone else was choosing the silence is golden route and if I ignore what you said, therefore it doesn’t exist option. “No, it didn’t have anything to do with that. I should congratulate you on being a true leader.” 

Blankness but he could see him trying to work that one out. To leave him in suspense any longer? Hmm, tempting. Better not. “You were hit with a winter spell, a particular strong one. You want to know how strong? You know Varric’s trip and stumble? That was caused by it. Good chance it was meant for him, instead here we are.” Dorian Pavus, the best Altas Mage in all of Tevinter and now master detective. Please, please don’t hold your applauds. But that smugness suddenly took an one eighty, diminishing as Dorian sat down on the ground next to him, taking away the glass of water and putting it to the side. Yeah, he could tell he wasn’t drinking it. “It was freezing you from the inside out. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry, I should have. I was more concerned about Varric, about you… It was stupid.”

Dorian did not know that someone could give an apology with that much torment in their voice. The path this was heading down, he didn’t like it. Too many things stirring inside of him, it was making him feel uneasy. So what better way to move completely change the tone of everything by changing the subject! “Impressed by the hospitality I see. It took a bit to get going, wet wood doesn’t like to burn well but thanks to my resourcefulness, you have fire.” Also what was more romantic than waking up to a cozy, crackling fire.

“So domesticated,” Rilien sniggered, continuing to hold the smile as he gave him a little shove.

“Don’t be ridiculous, that's a step too far.”

Warmth and comfort of his own was obtained, not by the fire but the elf shuffling over closer to him, spreading his legs enough to allow him to tuck in the nook using him as a seat. His arms wrapped around him drawing his lithe body in close, chin resting comfortably on his shoulder. It really was a nice fire, he had outdone himself. Just having him by his side, alive, when things could have been so different…no, he needed to move away from this trainwreck of a thought process. He joined the Inquisition knowing very well how dangerous it was, he put his own neck out there by defying a major faction in his homeland to do this. There was a target on his back as big as almost everyone else's and he was okay with that, but if something happens to this stupid creature and he gets himself worked up into a state of agitation. What was wrong with him?

“So how did you do it?” Ah good a distraction. He needed more of them. Focus on something else to stop the thoughts from invading.

“Magic,” Dorian smugly replied as if there was no other answer there could be. Did it look like he carried around a fire source? He was a fire source.

“... Really?”

How could this boy be so daft? “It can do more than send Nugs to their demise.”

“What about before? Since magic was affecting my body then couldn’t you use some magic in return, like heating your hands up and hold it against my body and gradually heat it that way?”

“What an odd thing to say,” the Tevinter proclaimed, staring at the fire with a puzzling look since he wasn’t facing the right direction to deflect that look to him. “Where would you come up with a ludicrous idea like that?” He had heard stories of Dalish Elves living a solitary life, keeping themselves away from humans… well that is the tame, short version of what he knew about them. Aside from that, what he was clear on was that it was as much as possible for elves to be mages. It wasn’t a trait restricted only to humans.

… Yeah umm about that… “At Haven, there had been a book that was left in my tent and I may have read it.” A book, normally such thing would be harmless, Dorian spent most of his time in Skyhold’s library fussing over the wealth of knowledge collected there. “It may have been… explicit.”

Well, well, well. The truth comes out! This certainly piqued the mage’s interest. Rilien certainly did not look like the type to read erotic fiction, hell, he was pretty sure that the boy was still a virgin. Oh well he did stun them all with his striking presence at Haven which naturally would have got the elf curious about it and he had been flirting back with him. What better way to for the inquisitive by reading trifling literature. “Come on Inquisitor, details. You can’t tease me with this revelation and leave on that note. Pray tell how this magic was used.” It was hard to keep that sardonic tone from his pitch. He really was sincerely interested in knowing what thoughts his dear Inquisitor had circling through his mind about sexual encounters worked but for him to believe it even for a second? This was too amusing.

“... It was used when… his fingers were inside of him… umm.” The voice trailed off into a mumble, clearly embarrassed to be sharing these details. “He used heating to... makeitmorepleasurable.”

The way that the last part was rushed out was a clear, okay thanks let's never talk about this again. Oh Maker, this was perfect. Thank you for bestowing this untarnished soul to this world. “Turn around and look at me. I think we need to have a sit down about this and talking to your neck is not going to work.”

He could feel the hesitation of Rilien contemplating doing it, begrudgingly fulfilling the request. Lilac eyes instantly diverting to the ground, not his lap, to the ground to avoid the shameful look he was probably expecting to get. Oh my, how adorable was that! Because Rilien’s head was turned away, he could clearly see the tint of red flushing his cheeks and not only that, it went all the way up to the tip of his ears! Ah, being so young and innocent brought its benefits.

“So what you are saying is that when Person A had his fingers inside Person B’s anus for the purpose of trying to stretch out his muscle to later accommodate his penis for sex. Oh I am assuming they were both men because you weren’t forthright with that. So Person A used a Inferno spell to make him feel warm inside?” Don’t snort, don’t do it! “Did he tickle his prostate with this magical touch as well? Did he find that spot right… _there!?_ ” The temptation was so hard to resist but he couldn’t go past the gasp and rolling his head back, playing out some sort of virginized sensitivity scene where he had just been touched in that special spot for the first time~ And that was where he lost his shit. No, no, it was too much to take. Nope, lost it, just laughing it all up now, hysterical laughter. Dorian was gone.

“You make it sound so lewd,” grumbled the Dalish, his mouth contorting with disgust. “Okay, I get it. You can stop laughing now.”

Soon, he will stop soon. Swear. For now a few tears rolled down his cheek, in the end, he needed to bury his head into his shoulder and just ride it out. He felt bad, really he did but never in his life had he laughed that hard. It was infectious. Once you started, it felt like it was never-ending. Ribs hurt, stomach was knotted up. Ah, the things he experienced in this team. It took a few minutes to regain his composure, wiping away the soggy patches from his cheeks. Thank you Inquisitor, thanks for the fun.

“I’m sorry, I did not mean to mock you but magic doesn’t work that way,” Dorian explained, still with a huge grin on his face. “Surely you had mages back in your clan. Did you ever not ask them now it works?” Oh please don’t make a face like that. Toning the smile down now.

“We did. I never had any personal interest in it… until now.”

Well shit, maybe he did feel a little bit of an ass about laughing so hard. Just a little. Cupping his cheeks with both hands, Dorian leaned in and gave him a gentle kiss. “Remind me later to give you a personal lesson about it.” No, not in the bedroom. Seriously, magic in the bedroom _never_ ends well.

The proximity of closeness they were experiencing, the calm after the storm effect washing over them where they could just focus on each other. Rilien was in a trance, gazing at Dorian’s face. The way the rain had flattened his hair, only to be teased out to a messy wave from assumedly his fingers trying to loosen the thick clumps while it was drying. Seeing him looking so disheveled when he took much pride in staying perfect, it was breathtaking. He couldn’t help but play with it some more, fingers slipping into his hair, massaging his scalp soothingly. “You’re a mess.”

“You should feel privileged,” Dorian unabashedly stated, running his thumb down the long, deep scar on his cheek. It was the perfect guide, running from his ear downwards, giving the visual guide straight to his mouth. That was exactly where he was heading, lowering his head down, softly pressing his own, easing him into another kiss. 

It didn’t take long for either party to respond and escalate, both parting their lips deepening the kiss they had locked themselves into. The air between them was getting thicker from the heated breathes, too much for the elf that needed to pull away, panting for air. He wasn’t in a good state not too long ago, it was already taking its toll on him. Not much of a chance to do that with the weight shifting, going from upright to backwards, his arms tightly wrapping around the older man’s next to keep himself from smacking his head on the floor.

This had progressed faster than was anticipated, for both of them for that matter. There was something about this whole situation that had his body yearning for some close quarters intimacy. This was not ideal, he could make Rilien worse off but his thoughts were so lust drunk that he didn’t want to stop. He just needed to be close to him. As supple as the young elf’s lips were, there was something else that Dorian was wanting to taste, showing Rilien on how he was wanting to see this progress forward. One last chaste kiss on the lips, the next one a bit firmer on his chin, the next wetter down his throat, laying a trail down the side of his neck.

A squirm underneath him as he rolled his hips forward, bringing a bit of friction between their manhoods. The subtle, light gasp that he tried to silenced with pursed lips. Nestling into the nape of Rilien’s neck, Dorian continued tantalizing him further with his very qualified and boasted mouth but still, he wanted to see this move further. There would be the issue of things to help with comfort levels. There was no such thing as lube magic or a spell that could make fingers slick with oil. The stories that people would tell these days, so fanatical. He would work something out, there was not going to be a chance to finish this back up at the camp where there could be something better equipped for the situation. Not given their past and the way things had been...

“...Stop. No more,” came the withdrawn voice underneath him. 

...Or not been progressing. Dorian did just that, respecting the boundaries of the other man but he was completely perplexed to why. “Is there something wrong? I am aware that this is not the best of surroundings, certainly something that I wouldn’t really want to stoop to but we all must make sacrifices. With times like this, we have to seize any chance alone we can get,” the man tried to reason with him.

“This is a _sacrifice_ you are willing to make?” Rilien exclaimed completely bewildered at what he was just told. “And you, _you_ are more concerned with seizing the moment!?” If the way he was accentuation his words didn’t give him the tip-off that he was getting aggravated for suddenly feeling like a cheap whore you could pick up at any ale house, the crease in his forehead where it has become a permanent scowl would have been another great indicator. “Get off me, we are going back to camp.”

“No, not this time,” he backed up his actions, using his hand to push down against the other’s shoulder when he tried to move to pin him down. Not that hurting Rilien on purpose was the plan, this talk was well overdue and he was going to do whatever he could to get him to stay put. “We are going to talk about what is going on with you.”

“What is going on with _me_!?” Oh damn, that man was playing with fire. Not a chance he is going to sit there and take this, squirming around trying to get a good angle to lift his hips up and knock him off. Not that he got far, feeling the squeeze against his arm that made him bite his lip to stop the cry out. Dammit that still hurt. “What would you call this!?”

“I’m not talking about this. I am talking about you in general.” It’s just that he happened to be pinned down and unable to move, sure. But this talk was a long time coming. “Let's face the truth here. You have not been the same since coming out of the Fade.”

“Really Dorian, you are going to bring this up again?” Rilien huffed with a roll of his eyes. “I have already apologized for that and frankly, it was something that I shouldn’t have to have done. I’m sorry I ended up in the Beyond, I’m sorry you were not there with me and most importantly, I am more sorry about the fact that I worried you.” His tone changed towards the end, softening, dejected. When they had returned after their experience in the Fade, hearing Dorian confess how he was worried about him, it knotted his stomach up knowing that he had hurt him. If only the rest of the conversation continued like that, focusing back on the original train of thought and that growl coming straight back. “But why should I continue to be sorry for something that I had no control over? I do not go into any situation and go ‘oh, I think I may end up in the Beyond today so who should I pick for my party? Maybe Dorian.’ No! Of course not! There was no idea I knew that was going to happen!”

With each back and forth retort, the angrier they got, each one trying to get their own points out with continual yelling for at least another good ten minutes. Two strong-willed men, not ones to back down from an argument. Maybe it would be therapeutic for them, vexation is always good to get deep down in the root issue and force it to come to the surface with the filter that most people place on their communication dissolved. 

“Inquisitor, please. Look around you. Death comes knocking at our doors almost every single day so why not live in the moment? Why get tied down with all of the nonsense that comes along with it? Sex is harmless, actually it is quite a lot of fun but every time you come close to getting any sort of physical pleasure out of it, you turn and run. I have been quite accommodating, I have allowed this little charade of ours to go on for long enough. When are you going to consider what I want?” ...Or it would just turn to complete shit.

“What you want? Is that is all I am? A sexual conquest?” Complete shit route it became. “Cross a Dalish off the list because you have never been with one before. Can’t get one as a slave so the Inquisitor obviously would openly offer himself to the unrequited charms of Dorian Pavus.”

That one really got under his skin and hit him down deep. He was never dishonest about the fact slavery was still allowed in the Tevinter Imperium and that his family owned slaves and unlike a lot of the slaves that were still in servitude, he always treated theirs with respect. Never would he had had sex with them, they were well below his well refined high standards. 

Without thinking, the palm holding Rilien’s shoulder down and picked up and slammed into the floor with enough force that with its unmaintained state, it snapped part of it off. That caught the elf’s attention, all aggression instantly stripping from him, now just startled from the physical reaction. Dorian’s composure was unwavered, the cold-hearted glare intensifying as he went in for the killer blow.

“Vishante kaffas, no knife-ear like you would _ever_ be worth my time,” he hissed, asserting his superiority.

Dead silence, not even the crackling of the fire was enough to affect the eerie nothingness that was coming from both men. It was going to be the question of which one would break it first. Both parties were left there with their thoughts, letting each other’s words sink in. 

“... Get off me…” No anger, no pain, no sadness. Rilien’s voice was stripped of all emotional reaction as he gave his command for the Tevinter to move.

This time it was adhered to. Dorian took a step away, trying to work out what was going to happen next. The truth of it all was that Elves were regarded as impoverished second-class citizens who were disregarded by everyone around them. The Dalish because they would not attempt to live like peasants and had their lineage taken from them, they chose not to be oppressed by keeping to themselves and in return, were seen as savages. Elf xenophobia was everywhere and it is something that Rilien faced all the time. These are things that the mage did not understand because he chose not to know. It was true, outside of his own little world where almost everything fell at your feet, why should he have cared? 

Even when he had first joined the Inquisition, the two had been engaged in conversation in regards to the subject of slavery and elves, the Inquisitor was very touchy with that subject, making his place known that he did not like the use of that derogatory word. And yet here he was, using it against him. Was he going to get throttled? Was he going to be sent on his own personal tour of the Fade.

Still nothing. Not even eye contact, he just walked out.

Great work Pavus. You really blundered that one.


	4. Chapter 4

Skyhold, one would assume it would have been comforting place to reside in. It was fortress, strong and secure, a place that speaks volumes from the outside with its grandeur. A deterrent for any would-be bandits or worse, any of the number of enemies tracking them, from trying to raid them. The land it resided on had been bestowed with the magic of his ancestors that in return, had seeped into the masonry, providing additional protection from spirits breaking free from the Fade Rifts. It was the hope that they had been looking for, the symbol of what the Inquisition was, a force to be reckoned with... in theory. Right now it was completely ramshackle. Not at dilapidated as it was a couple of months prior, everyone pulling man hours when they could to restore the fortress back to its former glory. Didn't stop those would-bes finding the vulnerabilities in their structure and walking straight in. Yes, straight in, through the gaping hole in the gate. Everyone was quite confused at the group of Freemen of the Dales sitting in their compound, roasting a boar they had captured nearby after they strayed from their path. While they were kind enough to share their feast, it was still a work in progress. Hopefully a couple of those people out there following the Maker's teachings were praying for the required supplies to end up on their doorstep miraculously.

There had been no complaints that he had heard from any of the occupants, finding the solace they required. Just that Rilien couldn't seem to find that. Once again, he was up in the wee hours of the night casually walking through the seemingly endless halls. Something about these walls were unsettling, the flickering of the candles, the stiff chill in certain areas that sent a shiver up his spine. Spirits near the Fade Rifts increased their activity of night, much as the eerie presence picked up after dark in Skyhold, inside the walls, not outside. For someone who didn't really believe in that sort of shenanigans, ever since he received the Mark, he became increasingly aware of, well, weird feelings. Also two times physically walking through the Fade and surviving could be enough to invoke some sort of paranoia about the afterlife. While the Mark was on his hand, it was something that he was going to have to embrace.

He was right, Dorian that is. He was right in saying that he had not been the same since returning from the Fade after Adamant Fortress. The memories of that day that he had forgotten, maybe a coping mechanism from the trauma suffered, those had all been returned. There was no way of shutting the thoughts off. All those people burning alive, the pungent smell of their flesh as it seared through to the muscles and slowly down to bone. Screams of agony, pleas for help. Pathways of blood showing the carnage, bodies crushed and twisted, desperately trying to escape the wreckage, only leaving part of themselves behind. They couldn’t be saved and yet they all look towards him for help. There is one, he could have saved her and yet, she sacrificed herself so he could live on. They should have been able to escape together! If she had only grabbed his fucking hand! So why him? A spy, a filthy elf. All of those faces, the vacant glares fixated. Judging him in their last moments, they knew. So why him? Why did they all have to die and yet something that should have killed him, did not? Why was he so goddamn important!?

“Looks like my elfroot is finally sprouting,” he mused softly to himself in pride.

A lot of his sleepless nights were spent tending to the small garden he had set up in the courtyard, planting seeds he had collected along his travels. This was not the first batch that he had taken to growing, it was more like the fifth. Elfroot was a hardy plant that could sprout in almost any condition and yet somehow he managed to kill many crops, not boasting a green thumb at all. Not even a green toe. There was no budding botanist inside of him. Granted, he did have a theory that two attempts were foiled by someone wanting to remove the plants before they spread and overran the garden as technically they were seen as a weed. A weed with medicinal powers. A weed that he had a very strong affixation to. Don’t get in-between him and his elfroot.

But sadly herbs don’t take much attending to so Rilien found himself sitting on the bench nearby, once again with just him and his thoughts. It had been well over a week since he had spoken to Dorian, mainly because he was purposely going out of his way not to see him. The things he said, it cut him deep. It was also a two way street, the mage hadn’t approached him either and that what was hurting him more. Words are spoken in anger all the time, emotions at a high and sometimes you couldn’t control what was said. Frustration, he got it. When things are said that you don’t mean, when everything has calmed down you should approach the other party, explain your side, apologize even. Maybe he couldn’t do that because it was the truth and that was how he truly felt. He heard all the hushed whispers behind his back, the aversion people felt due to their chosen, their supposed Andraste’s Herald, was a Dalish Elf. Should have been glad that this one was bold enough to say it to his face.

… Get it together Lavellan, this shit will do your head in.

He wasn’t the only one burning the midnight oil it seemed, the stirring of footsteps helped to move on from that train of thought. Silently he waited and watched as the clacking of shoes against the cobble footpath moved closer, ready to pounce in case it was another unwelcomed intruder or perhaps, the elfroot saboteur. 

“Her golden hair in ringlets fair, her eyes like diamonds shining. Her slender waist, her heavenly face, that leaves my heart still pining.”

Was that… singing? The pitch of the tone, while hushed not to disturb anyone, had a distinct couple of octaves higher. Whoever it was, they were pretty good. Soothing enough to put any babe to sleep and yet smooth enough with enough bass to make take a female’s breath away. Or an male elf’s, the curiosity getting the better of him. Rilien had to know who it was. Instead of calling out which would be the more logical step to do, he sat very still, trying to remain unnoticed and not to disturb them.

“Andraste above oh hear my prayer to my beauteous fair to find me and send me safely back again, to the girl I left behind me.”

Head down, carelessly following the path, blissfully ignorant that he was being watched. This was a side of the man that he had never seen before, something about it was calming. He stopped close by, a shift in the breeze catching the top couple of sheets of the paper stack he had been holding, scattering them onto the ground. The singing may have stopped but the humming did not, not skipping a beat, continuing the hold the tune while he picked them up.

“Cullen…” Poof, all of the paper flew into the air like feathers from a bird that exploded with a bit of magical help, accompanied with the most feminine shriek he had ever heard. Maybe it wasn’t Cullen and some woman he had randomly scared the shit out of. Nope, pretty sure he looked like Cullen.

“Sweet Maker! I think I have soiled my trunks and had a heart attack all at the same time,” the man replied, clearly still distressed from the shock. Breathing ragged, hands shaking and his pupils were dilated wider than he had seen any humans. “Why are you hiding in the dark!?”

Since he was the one responsible for the mess, it was only fair that he helped to clean it up, crouching down and picking up the leaflets that wanted to flutter away on the wind. “I’m not hiding. You were distracted, I was here sitting quietly enjoying the night.”

“Why were you in the shadows? Is this some sort of creepy coaching they have you doing for that assassin training you are going through?”

Creepy training? What was so creepy about learning how to kill more efficiently? Well when you put it that way, that does sound pretty sinister. “What shadows? What are you talking about? You should have been able to see me as clear as day, I was only sitting a couple of feet from you. Perhaps you shouldn’t stare at your feet while you walk.”

“You can’t even see a foot in front of you in this darkness which is why I was staring at the ground. No moon, no light,” Cullen tried to reason with him, trying not to forget nighttime by getting his point across in a strained frustrated but low tone.

“Really? That’s strange because everything is perfectly clear to me.” No kidding. Not as clear as standing out in a bright sunny day but more of an overcast one, the dim surroundings that made it hard when looking on the other side of the courtyard but it was nothing like Cullen was describing. “Hmm, maybe elves see better in the night,” Rilien pondered aloud, handing over the paper collection he retrieved. “If that is the case then I am sorry about messing your pants up and should let you go on your way.”

“No, I should be sorry. I overreacted,” Cullen apologized with fingers through the back of his wavy curls, nervously trying to play off the whole situation. “We haven’t had a chance to speak in a while. Could I interest you in joining me for a cup of tea?”

After all of that, he could only graciously accept the offer. Not that he would have said no anyway. Spending time with the people around him, the people that put a lot of faith and trust into him to lead this Inquisition. Even though it was unfairly forced upon him, he was still willing to do whatever it took to help see it through until the end. “So you have a girl waiting for you?”

“Huh? W-What? No. Where did you-...”  
“You were singing about a girl you left behind so I assumed.“

Opening up the door for him, Cullen motioned his arm into the room welcoming Rilien in. “No, there is no one left behind. Life in the Templar Order was very solitary.” There was certainly pang of hurt there. Maybe someone he had feelings for and had left behind, contrary to what he was saying? Or maybe there was a place inside of him that yearned for some companionship. Whatever it was, it was a sore subject.

“Well you don’t need to be bound by that life anymore. We can always send you back to the Winter Palace for a suitor. There would be women and even men, lined up out the palace gates for a chance to get at a strapping man like you. Better yet, what about someone within the Inquisition? Someone like Vivienne. Imagine how splendid you would look at her side. I could put in a good word for you.”

That certainly lightened the mood, announced with a hearty chuckle. “Don’t you dare. Besides, I hear she wouldn’t even accept clothes made from Fereldan so I highly doubt she would accept a suitor from there. A gracious sentiment but I am fine.”

In just a short moment of talking, Cullen certainly was in high spirits. With all the work that he had placed on him, it must have felt good to just stop, shut it off even for a fleeting moment and talk about something more personal. He had discovered that his younger brother and wife were trying to conceive a child and he was certainly excited for the prospect of that, having a new member to the Rutherford family. On hearing that news, Rilien offered him the chance to return home on confirmation of birth, whenever that should happen but the man refused. His work here was more important and his family understood that. Mental note, arrange a mission in the future that required him to go close by. Hmm, he could be sneaky like that.

Family, it had been so long since he had seen his own, only assuming the Inquisition council made good on their word and sent communication to his clan to let them know he was still alive. There had been no word back but they could have meant anything. Maybe the letter wasn’t sent, maybe the word of the disaster at the Conclave meant that the tensions had moved past boiling point and they were forced to move on. Surely his brother or even Keeper Istimaethorial would at least try and get word to him. There had been no negative responses so he could take that as a positive.

Family was not the only subject the Commander wanted to talk about, it turned out that the strapping ex-Templar was also quite the gossip hoarder. With a group so close knit, some of the stories were quite scandalous. Rumors of one of their own Antivans had deep ties to the Orlais Upper Council, born out of an affair and when the other child of the legitimate relationship found out, they tried to have them killed. Humans and murder, their resolve to everything. Then again, track history on sitting down and talking it out didn’t end well either. Whether it was true or just some stretched half-truth, it made from interesting conversation. One revelation however, took him completely by surprise.

“Iron Bull and Dorian? Really?” His tone carried through with the utmost surprise, intrigue and scandal and wanting to know more. On the inside spoke another story, it felt like he had just taken a physical blow to the gut. 

This information and that soon after things had gone awry, it stung him deep. Rilien was not going to let any signs of that show through, not even for a second. Maybe Cullen had heard the rumours that Mother Giselle had spoken of and was using this to test him. Both hands around the mug warming himself on the diminishing liquid, the elf took a sip using the barrier to quickly compose himself and swallow down the lump forming in his throat. “You think something is going on there?”

“It is only an assumption made from observations but I have noticed on more than one occasion, our Tevinter Magister coming and going from Bull’s quarters, late in the night hours.”

“It could be anything really,” Rilien commented, still not willing to jump to any conclusions. There could be any number of reasons why he would be visiting, not any that he could pick from the top of his head to justify it, just that acting on emotions could lead this into a further mess. Remain level headed, there had to be a reason.

The blonde gave a hum, tapping his index finger in the cleft of his lip a couple of times. “That is true,” he agreed with another couple of taps on his lip. Obviously this was a process that helped him to think. “I find it odd that there is clearly animosity there and yet, he is down in his quarters as we speak. Maybe it is true, opposites attract.”

Dorian was in Bull’s quarters as they spoke… If he thought the sting from start of this conversation was bad, now it was like someone had booted him in the testicles. 

“If all that it takes to get some tongues wagging is to spent time in the company others then I better not spend so much time up here then. Wouldn’t want people to talk.” And if that was the case then the elf would be seen as the local slut, always traveling between all of his companions making sure they were fitting into the Inquisition, getting to know them. Even the support staff he would take time out of his way and make sure there was anything they required. With that logic, he would be sleeping with half of Skyhold!

“They wouldn’t…” the blonde exclaimed loudly, the hand slapping over his mouth was the only thing stopping tea from being spat out.

“Geez Cullen, you wound me,” the young Dalish feigned hurt, standing up and pressing his hands on his heart, stumbling a step back. Ouch, arrow straight through. Kill shot! “That is the most horrified look I have ever seen.” And he has people looking down on him on a daily basis. Comes with the territory of being Elven. 

Cheeks flushed in obvious embarrassment, the cup placed on the table while the other hand sent into the drawers, pulling out a handkerchief. Not all of the liquid was contained, some of it spilt out and dribbled down his shirt, making him look like a right state. 

“Well… uh… I did not mean it like that…” he tried to justify, still wanting to hide away. Wiping away drink spittle was the best excuse he could use for that.

“I’m joking.” A slap on the shoulder showing there was no hard feelings. It was good to see that the advisers by his side were still human so to speak. “And on that note, I wish you a good night,” Rilien smile and bowed his head slightly, placing his cup on the table next to his. “Thank you for the tea and get some sleep. Can’t have my Commander not functioning at his best.”

A good night’s sleep for the rest of the evening was something that was off his cards. His thoughts side-tracking him, stopping in front of the sleeping quarters which was not on his way back to his own. As much as he told himself that he didn’t want to know, there was something inside of him that needed to know what was going on. No Elf was good enough for him because a Qunari was? He could have already gone, over for a brief chat and then back on his way. This was stupid, he wasn’t going to get involved in this petty…

Creaking of the door while so cliché, he could thank the unmaintained state of their fortress for giving him the pre-warning required. Should he just stand there and say hi? Should he make a run for it and hope his footsteps didn’t tip them off? He may have been able to get away from Dorian without a noise but Bull was a Ben-Hassrath spy, surely any noise made in the dash would draw his attention. Instead he took option three, spotting some shrubs a couple of steps back from him, using the shadows of the night and the distraction of the door to mask his way, ducking behind and dropping to a crouch to maintain his anonymity. This is where he was thanking his now known enhanced eyesight, peering through the leaves and branches, still able to maintain a clear view of the door without any candle light required.

Just a bar girl, maybe two. Bull always loved to brag openly about his sexual conquests. Not once had he ever mentioned Dorian and clearly, if he had a Vint on a short tether like that, surely he would not shut up about it.

Stiff stamp of his boot into the dirt outside of the door kicked up some dust, the exaggerated breathy huff heard clearing in the silence of night. Couple of steps away was all he got before the towering mass emerged outside, immodestly naked, his well-endowed body on display without a care in the world. With a hard yank, the giant hand wrapped around the smaller man’s waist pulling him back up against his body. First a squirm backwards, then a lurch forward, finally settling as the horned man nuzzled into his neck. Whatever he had been angry about a few moments ago appeared to be forgotten, rolling his head back with an arm snaking around the back of his neck, moaning deeply while rocking his hips back against the other’s exposed appendage. For only a minute they stayed like that, one was fighting to pull the other back into the room, the other was against it. In the end, the smaller won, breaking away for that brief moment to turn around and passionately kiss him. That was the final tease, taking his leave, presented with a hard slap on his buttock as he going away present.

Rilien watched as the two parted ways, frozen in place even after the door had closed. It was true, no amount of explanation from either party could refute what he just saw. No, it was dark, you were clearly mistake, no oops, I accidentally fell and sucked on his tongue. Those rumors, they were true...

\--------------------------

“O never shall I forget the night, the stars were bright above me. And gently lent their silvery light when first she vowed to love me.”

Stars above him were shimmering brightly, the first time he had seen them in just over a week. The clearance in the cloud cover allowed the twin moons up high to shine but it also brought the chill in the night time air, making him shiver. Picking up the pace to his stride, the brisker walk he hoped would get the heart pumping faster and the blood flowing quicker to produce the warmth, not being able to take the time and admire the twinkling stars like he would have liked to. Plenty of time later to do that, now, a toasty fire awaited him.

“The falling waters cease to roar, here I shall seek to change…” Slowing his pace down to a near on a dead stop, the man quietly looked over at the seat, giving his eyes a second to adjust. “her…” Rest of the words to the song escaped him, aware that there was someone sitting down on their own, head down, probably in deep thought as they hadn’t even so much as moved as much as a muscle with his approach. 

Well, well, well, this was amusing. How the roles had reversed this time. Surely he could have left him there but a little payback was in order. “Inquisitor, really, we should stop meeting like this.”

A yelp and then a thud. The sudden flailing of arms and feet combined with jump off the seat, ended in complete disaster, tripping over himself, landing on his back on the ground. No movement to get back on his feet, not even a grunt. Maybe he hit his head on a rock and knocked himself unconscious? 

“I guess that makes us even now.”

Nope, still alive and kicking, probably feeling pretty sheepish. Ah, it felt good to get his own back, which he expected that reaction but it was memorable to say the least. Offering a hand to the fallen elf, he waited for it to be accepted, pulling him back up and to his feet. Even went as far as dusting of his shoulder for him. There, good as new.

“If that is the case then I think we should carry on our tea tradition,” informed Cullen with a motion of his hand, inviting him to take up that offer. 

However, there was no instant acceptance. Jump scare aside, he did not expect the turn down but the Commander was not going to take “no” for an answer. “I have a tea that my sister has sent that I would love to try with some company.” Yep use that as a bribe. What kind of a cold-hearted man would turn down sharing a special drink with what he would assume would be a friend? Not this one, that was comforting to know.

Not a single word spoken between them on the walk back, Cullen taking a glance to the side every so often, making sure he was okay. It would have been terrible if he had a concussion, only he suspected there was more to it than a bump to the head.

“That song you heard me singing a few nights ago,” the blonde man spoke breaking the silence as soon as the tea was ready, passing the cup to Rilien and placing his own on the table. “It was a song that my Uncle taught me before I left for the Templar Order. “Something to remember home by” he said. Every night I sung that song and now, it is a ritual for me.”

So many good memories that would always bring a smile to him whenever he thought about it. He had truly been blessed with a close knit family. Sometimes those memories were all he had to keep him sane… and even that was becoming a hard task. “Lately, I have been forgetting the words. It started off with a word or two, in turn moved to sentences.”

Lyrium, the raw mineral that was a double edged sword. On one hand it was able to help people, give them immunities, give them power but at a cost. Before they were officially inducted into the Templars, they were told the risks associated with the use of lyrium. However, it wasn’t sold to them on the exactly accurate scale on how it would affect them but they knew it what it could do. At that point it didn’t matter, your drive to perform your duty for the Chantry could not be swayed by anything. Faith in the Maker would see you through it. Or that is what you could only tell yourself.

So many lives had been taken by his sword, manipulated through teachings and cemented with the growing addiction inside of him. He had watched others refuse to act, minor subordination would have them locked up in the cells, screaming like madman over time from the withdrawal their bodies were going through. No one could have expected it to be to this extent when they chose the life, Cullen certain did not. Templars were revered by the people as saviors. They did everything within their power to keep people safe from the perils of magic and the users, from the corruption it spread. By the time it was figured out, it was too late. You were merely a pawn of oppression and there was nothing that could be done about it, their hooks were dug in deep, controlling you through a dangerous addiction that most people could not break free from.

Well he was trying. He was trying so hard. At times the agony was unbearable. Something deep underneath his skin that was wriggling, crawling, wanting to break free. An itch that could not be scratched and no matter how much you tried to resist, it worked its way to the surface. And yet he still refused to give into it. Cassandra was the only one that knew of the extent of the truth after she had found him naked, balled up in the corner of the room. Hyperventilating, shaking all over in a cold sweat. When she moved to help him, she discovered he was bloody caused by his own hand from the repetitive scratching at his chest that gouged away at his flesh, his own fingernails proving that he had done it. Cullen couldn’t remember it, it was nothing but a big pit of darkness. The only thing he remembered was the insatiable need to quench the thirst that lyrium provided, wrenching irritation everywhere and it couldn’t be stopped.

“Why are you telling me this? Why now? Cullen, you should have said something to be before it got this bad,” Rilien exclaimed, genuinely concerned for his well-being.

It felt good to have someone care about you, the comradery of the Inquisition was positively inspiring and that was a very large part in thanks to the Inquisitor. The group was so diverse that he was amazed that something hadn’t broke by this point, the clashes of castes, classes and personalities would have been much larger organization’s walls starting to crumble by now. Yet they were here still holding strong. 

“Because I know what it is like to be haunted by demons, of being afraid to close your eyes.” But this talk they were having, as much as it seemed like it, was not about him. He didn’t bring it up to try and invoke sympathy. There was someone else he was more worried about. “Inquisitor, I know you are not sleeping. Whatever you are going through, you don’t need to keep it to yourself. You can trust me. Talk to me.”

He wished he could have said that Rilien opened up to him straight away and trusted him. At first he said that nothing was wrong, denying everything. Body language said otherwise, hiding behind his cup, putting his focus into that, refusing to maintain eye contact. That was how Cullen knew he was on the correct track. He wouldn’t open up, that was okay, he would continue to talk and share his own experiences. Hopefully something he says resonates to his own personal struggles, and trust him, the Commander had a lot of skeletons hiding there.

“...Are we really doing the right thing?” Headway, it was the start of something. Cullen could see how much of a weight this was on his conscious, the despondent circling on his temples that progressed to the rolling and the rubbing of his neck. Still he couldn’t look him in the eyes. “Those people out there, Venatori, Red Templars, even down to the Bandits, they believe in their cause so strongly that most of them are willing to sacrifice themselves for it. What makes us so special? What says that we doing the right thing?”

“You need to put your faith in Andraste. She chose you for a reason.”

“It’s hard to put your faith in something or someone you don’t believe in. No, wait, that was not what I mean,” the elf apologized, rubbing his eyes wearily. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to disrespect your beliefs.”

That was right, the elves had their own gods. Cullen never stopped to think about that, how difficult it must have been for him being referred to as being chosen by a deity he did not even believe in. 

“Then believe in yourself and what you can do for these people. Not everything we do is going to be the correct choice, something that I have learned from being a Templar, what the actions of Chantry has shown me. Even my Knight-Commander at Kirkwall, her heart was in the right place, it was just her decisions were not. You can be assured that nothing that Corypheus is doing is the correct path and I pity the souls that follow him down it.”

Good, progress. Bottling emotions up would not work forever, it was only a temporary fix. In the end something was going to break and this was the one man they couldn’t have doing that. One step forward and then back to a grinding halt, not that he was worried about that. The way the elf’s head was bobbing back and forth, the recover only to dip his head down with his eyes closed for a prolonged period of time before eyes would snap back open. He was struggling to stay awake.

“Does it get any easier? The killing.” That question stunned the blonde, coming out of nowhere. Was this what was really getting to him? “Back with my people, I had killed humans so I am not without guilt. We killed to protect the sanctity of our clan and now, now it's all a running joke. “Surprised you didn’t kill five people just by walking here,” they say. It’s all I see now when I close my eyes...”

Cullen didn’t have a chance to respond, already the redhead was up to his feet, not very upright, giving a soft sway. Somehow he was still holding onto that mug. “I’ve taken too much of your time…”

Whoops, don’t take a spill there. Cullen was at the ready, grabbing the mug out of Rilien’s hand before he dropped it, the other around his back catching him with his chest. Took him long enough!

Perhaps that was something else he was planning on too, the special tea blend that his sister had given him was infused with herbs to help him sleep. Nothing potent to knock a person out, just enough to relax the muscles, calm the soul, all natural. Cullen was surprised that the Inquisitor had lasted that long given his body weight was half the amount he was and a cup was all that was needed for him to get him settled into a long night's slumber. Best thing is that he should not have been none the wiser to its effects, the deprivation of sleep would eventually cause the same effect until he collapsed from exhaustion. This way, he didn’t have to get to that point.

“I know you don’t believe but Maker watch over you and let you get a good night’s rest. You deserve at least that.”

Carefully he placed the sleeping man in his bed and pulled up the covers, saying another silent prayer before leaving the room. Oh those rumors that could have emerged from this, the Inquisitor leavings his office in the morning, obviously with the unkempt bed hair, cheek smeared with drool look. People talked way too much for their own good. Seriously, if anything came about from this, he would…

“Did I interrupt something?”

Right on queue. Of course someone had to show up and better yet, their Spymaster. “Shh, the Inquisitor needs his rest. Poor soul, so exhausted he fell asleep right there in the chair,” he shrugged to Leliana, pleading completely innocent to anything he may have befell against their beloved Herald. As much as he feigned ignorance, there was a very good chance that she already knew. If she didn’t, there was something wrong. “Something you need?”

“Have you had the chance to talk with him about…?”

Mmm, yes that. Leliana did not need to finish, he certainly knew where she was going. Had he known about this issue a week earlier, he would have brought it up to Rilien within a heartbeat. But not now, not after what he had seen tonight. One more burden didn’t need to be put upon his shoulders, not when he believed they were capable of handling the situation themselves. They were specialists in their fields, there was enough experience between all three supervisors. Cullen was going to exercise his right as Commander for this and make a judgement call.

“He is under enough pressure at the moment. We will be able to resolve this without his input,” he replied, lowering his voice to make sure he didn’t wake up Sleeping Beauty but the overall tone went to official mode.

The night was still young and they still had work to do. “I will start drafting preparations tonight.”


	5. Chapter 5

“It’s just one guard. One! I could charge in, take her by surprise and smash her into a bloody pulp.”  
“You can not be serious. With the way you scream at the top of your lungs, in what I would assume you believe is a battle cry, the rest of the troops would come swooping in and take us from behind.”

It has been days of dealing with this. _Days!_ Persistent back and forth bickering that didn’t even have undertones of sexual innuendo, it was full on in your face. 

“Yeah, I bet you would have no complaints about taking it from behind.”  
“Es scortum obscenus vilis! Get your mind out of the gutter!”

Actually he was surprised that Bull had not pulled out that gargantuan schlong of his and cock slapped Dorian across the face for the shits and giggles because this is the way the conversation was seemingly progressing. The qunari constantly poking at the Tevinter provocatively, the Tevinter was not at all biting, more like biting his head off in response. Had it always been like this? Because it was blatantly evident now. Perhaps is was due to the fact that the sentiment was not reciprocated it flew over his head or he was really naive like Dorian loved to point out.

“Look, she is standing in a puddle. Can’t you use your magic and electrocute her?”  
“Doesn’t anyone here understand how magic works!?”

Rilien knew that was a personal jab at him as well but he chose to ignore it, trying his best to zone them out and survey what was around. If there was someone around guarding the camp then the others shouldn’t be too far away. That was the problem, there was no evidence that suggested there were others around. Was it another batch of bad intel? A party of at least six, not highly skilled but enough to hold their own and yet there was one female with the provisions to sustain one or two people at the most. It didn’t even look like she was guarding anything either. Pretty sure she was stretching.

“What is there to understand? You blow the shit out of things, so use it to blow the shit out of her!”  
“Magic isn’t something that can be equipped and unequipped! I can’t be fire one minute and then electricity the next! It takes years to hone your art and skills! Not that an uncouth, filthy animal would…”

Gurgling and gasping brought all chatter to an abrupt stop, both men turning their heads around slowly to the source, looking over their shoulders. How did he…? They were bewildered to see a man standing behind them, sword in hand, poised up and ready for the strike into someone’s skull, spine or chest cavity. Couldn’t really ask him the question of what area he was aiming to strike as burble, gurgle, splutter was about all his vocabulary was capable of, his throat sliced so deep it had severed his larynx. Blood spurted from the exposed jugular, tainting the mage a deep vermilion. Dorian cringed, then gagged, his face showing the utmost revulsion. Did he run there? There was no man in sight so where did he come from? Again, he wasn’t going to be able to answer that with the life draining from his body, muscles collapsing dropping the body down to the ground, spasming violently into death. Phew that was certainly close but what the hell just happened?

The pair looked around to see where the third of the party had gone to. Elves were nimble creatures but damn, theirs was nowhere in their immediate vicinity but a good couple of hundred metres down the track where the original guard they were tracking was standing. Now lying, collapsed into her own bloody pool in the dirt. Not as spectacular and gory as guard number two but her body had a good five knives buried into her chest and back. No seriously, what the fuck just happened?

An ambush almost what happened! Bickering nancies over there were so caught up in the teaching time of Magic101 that they missed the second guard that was trying to flank them. Immediate threat taken care of as swiftly and silently as possible not to tip off the guard down the bottom, giving him enough time to hit her from behind with a ranged knife attack, capitalizing on the stunned state to rush down there and a couple of stabs deep into the chest to finish the job. All while they were pissing in the breeze. 

Given the distance between them, they could probably not detected the vexed glare they were receiving. Eyes locked onto them and stayed that way as he blindly reached down and wrenched the blades out of the woman’s body, giving his wrist a sideways flick one by one, to remove any excess bodily fluids or organs. Whatever he had walked into at Skyhold between them, that was no excuse to act the way they were. Had he not been actively watching their surroundings then one or more of them could been seriously injured or more than likely, be the ones lying in a pool of their own blood. Nothing more than a damn babysitter!

“Damn Boss you are callous,” Bull called out to the elf, sharing his thoughts on his kill. He was thinking proactively, move the body off the main path towards the camp in case friends were in tow but when he moved the body, the head completely snapped back. “You sliced him all the way down to the spine.”

The warrior was cool with it and respected the length he went to save his ass, the mage did not, taking to the closest tree hunching over and vomiting down the trunk. As much as Dorian joked about the backstabbing and murder as if it is a way of daily life in the Tevinter Imperium, nearly severed heads probably were not common.

All praises were ignored and so was the clean up job, Rilien focused at the the cargo that the two were guarding. It was believed that they were carrying scrolls that lead to a certain artifact that Solas was after, discovered through channels that his advisers were using. One chest found inside of the tent was filled with trinkets collected what was assumed to be historical dig sites, could have been ready to be sold to merchants. Nothing was of significance. The second was locked which would have said jackpot to him, only that after picking the lock, it was even more fruitless. Fabric. Why would someone locks up fabric!? Dammit!

He needed to calm down, clear his mind. Closing his eyes, he took in a couple of deep breathes, slowly exhaling. Think, there has to be something that you are missing. There has to be... “Bull, Dorian. Go on ahead. I will meet up with you in town.”

No back talk, no complaints. For once today they both agreed in unison, to move on and that was because they had found money pouches on the corpses and were ready to hit the bar. Naturally it was too much to think they would have listened to instructions because he was the Inquisitor. Fueled by alcohol. Brilliant. 

An hour had passed since he had sent the pair on and no reinforcements had arrived. Just the two of them, once again against the information they had received. No scrolls, no artifacts, the only thing of somewhat importance he could find after searching every nook and cranny has been some designs for armaments. Just like Storm Coast, more misinformation.

That wasn’t the only thing that remind him of that mission, the distinct feeling that they were being watched, that someone was lurking around that he could feel but couldn’t see. That feeling was back. It was why he sent the rest of his party away, whatever or whoever it was, it didn’t seem to want to expose themselves while others were around.

“I know you are out there. Why are you following me?” he called out loud enough for anyone a distance away could hear.

It was hard to pinpoint where exactly they were, the only guide that he had was gut instinct and the prickling on the back of his neck. They were much quieter than last time, no crackling of terrain under their feet to give away their position, not even the movement of grass. Even the treeline was scanned with his eyes for any telltale signs of life up in them, not even a bird watching over them.

Nothing. No one. Shit. “What is going on?” he questioned himself aloud, rolling his head back a little to look up at the sky, nervously laughing off. “I must be losing my mind.”

The night was still young if the rowdiness coming out of the inn was anything to go by. Nightfall had been upon them for a while by the time he reached the accommodation for the night, the commotion already telling him that a good night's sleep was off the table. If he was lucky, most of the people would drink themselves into a stupor early on in the night, already a couple had hit their limits, having to step over their unconscious bodies on the way into the establishment. Approaching the counter staff to see if the rest of his party had arrived was not needed, tipped off to one of them being there with the bellowing roar of victory as one qunari warrior defeated one stocky dwarf what presumably was a drinking game as the dwarf fall backwards off his stool and onto the ground. It really was going to be a long night…

“Hey Boss! Get your ass over here and get some piss into you!” A very long night.

Deep breath in, long exhale out. That was the best he could do to get his composure, putting a smile on and a nod of his head to let him know he heard him. Maybe this was the time for him to get his head out of the sand and ask some questions, get to the bottom of everything that has been happening.

“Where’s Dorian?” he curiously asked, taking a seat and looking around the immediate vicinity for their Tevinten mage. Can’t have him crashing the party before they got to the good part.

A shrug, that was an odd response. There was clearly something he didn’t understand here. Did they have a fight on the way there? “Sipping on some fancy vino somewhere, probably holding his pinky up while he does it. Who gives a shit.” Should he take that as a yes? And Dorian liked to complain that he was hot and then he was cold. With these two it was like a flaming inferno to a blizzard. “We are here so let's have some fun!”

“... Did something happen? You have been acting a bit… strange.” There had to be some logical explanation for this. Maybe if he got him to open up and talk it out, he could discover what these two were bickering about and… wait, what the hell was he thinking!? This guy was having sex with the guy that he thought he liked and liked him back and he was more worried about trying to get to the bottom of what was making him a Mister Poopy Pants? Lavellan, your priorities are a little skewed. 

“You look like you want to ask me something,” Bull questioned, leaning in closer to him, staring him down clearly trying to size him up. Rilien couldn’t begin to doubt himself now. If he crumpled while under a little bit of pressure like this, then the Ben-Hassrath would clearly know something was going on. So he agreed that he did which earned the positive response of “Then you are buying the round.”

Buying a round of drinks, that was not a bad cost. Putting up his hand, he drew the bartender's attention and asked for another of what the big man was already drinking. He could have swore that metaphysical fumes wafting off the stop of the stein, the potency of the brew stinging his eyes. It was a miracle that the pewter wasn’t melting from the toxicity of the drink. Whatever man, that’s your insides that are being corroded, not his.

“Hey, if you are not drinking then there is nothing to talk about.”

Mother fu-... So confession time, consuming alcohol was something that he had never experienced before and truthfully, did not have much of a want to. Not that the Dalish did not have access to liquor but it was more something that was drank at special occasions. A gathering or celebrations like a wedding but never on a frequent basis as he seen many down at the pub. Obviously it can’t be that bad since they go back night after night.

Psst, bartender, come closer. Umm so he would like to order the weakest drink that was humanly possible or better yet, make it non-alcoholic. He took from the hysterical laughter as a no. That’s okay, Iron Bull to the rescue, ordering his drink for him. It was not at all the same as he was drinking, the glass much smaller and filled with a caramel golden liquid. Hmm, did not smell as potent as the other one.

“Is there anything between you and Dorian? I mean in the relationship way,” the elf asked, swirling his drink, procrastinating. He thought it was going to be a lot harder to ask that question. Like a bandage, pull it off quickly so even if the scab comes off and starts to bleed everywhere, the faster it would take to heal. Great, his relationship was a scab…

“Relationship? If that is another way to ask if we are fucking then yes, we are.” Not an inch of hesitation in his voice, just straight out with it like it was nothing, casual news. Just two old friends shooting the shit. 

“Can I ask how long for?” Oh look, not all of that scab had been picked off. Let's keep scratching at it until you make it ooze because you pulled skin along with it. He was certainly being a glutton for punishment. 

The drink he had been nursing had been noticed and motioned towards. He refused to answer more questions until he had a drink. Rilien had to bite the bullet, raising the glass up to the other man’s and clinked them together. There was no amount of bracing that could have prepared himself for the burn, all the way down his esophagus. Coughing and sputtering was his way of helping it to subside, his hand balling into a fist and pounding into the wood top. Really, that is not going to work but anything to stop the burn. Ugh why the hell did people drink that stuff?

“Puts hair on your balls,” he laughed, wavering the bartender over to pour the poor dying elf another one. “Haven, I think. Well before we arrived at Skyhold. Do you count blowjobs into that because it was definitely Haven if you do.”

Man down, man down. Not only did he pull that scab off, he made himself a new gaping big hole in his chest. Since Haven!? The innocent flirting between them started in Haven, a comment dropped here and there in admiration to test the waters. Dorian loved to talk adoration about himself and so he thought maybe he was motioning to something like interest towards him. Under normal circumstances, Rilien wouldn’t have made a move like that but there was something that he, felt, assumed, guessed? Clearly all of the self flattery had attracted further attention and he wasn’t the only one floating that same idea. Maybe he never intended to take it this far and Dorian was in an emotional state, dealing with his father’s unannounced arrival and the way they parted. Was it all just bad timing and circumstances that brought them together?

To make matters worse, he couldn’t even be angry about any of this because after all, Iron Bull is the one that is being cheated on. That made him, the bit on the side. A fuck buddy that wasn’t putting out. He wish he could have been been infuriated with Dorian but looking back at all of it, he was the one that was doing the teasing and tempting, no, that shouldn’t be a reason for him to stray from whatever he has with his lover. No, still all his fault. Nothing was shaking that feeling.

“What’s your interest?”

Shit, he was doing that thing again. Not that saying that he was a bad guy because in his defense, Iron Bull had been upfront about everything with him, even the fact that he was relaying acquired information about this his people but there was something about him. Conversations felt guarded. A lot of that was his own fault, rarely did he speak about himself or what his life was like before the Inquisition. He chose to keep that aside. But whenever they conversed, it was clear they were both holding something back.

“Well after that stunt you both pulled today,” he snarled, downing the second drink. Time apart and the walk on his own hadn’t taken the anger away like he thought it had. “Don’t you ever do that again!” That was as bad-ass and angry boss man as he was going to get, the burn overtaking everything followed up with more coughing. No more. That’s enough of that death drink.

And what was the qunari’s response to that? Buy him another drink. Seriously, was alcohol some sort of peace offering? But he also got the agreement that he fucked up and a slap on the back which almost knocked him face first into the bar with how hard it was as an apology. Okay, he would accept that, things back to normal. All calm. “Was that a lovers tiff?”

“That? Shit no. I just love fucking with the Vint. You want to know what else he loves?”

… Is that even possible? Legal? No, something like that should not go there! Dorian had told him on a couple of occasions that the use of alcohol was good for getting someone relaxed, comfortable and when that happened, details would start flowing without hesitation. Rilien wasn’t sure if the big man was drunk enough to spew out all the details of their very intimate relationship or he was happy that he had someone to gossip with. Whatever it was, he wish he could unhear it. It was brutal to hear explicit details about the man he thought he was developing feelings for. Although it put a lot of things into perspective for him. It wasn’t love that Dorian was after but lust. All of the told encounters were spurt of the moment, rip your clothes off and take me now over this, up against that, tie you up and make you scream my name… everything Rilien was not.

“You know, for an elf, you are pretty cute yourself. A bit scrawny for my liking but if you are ever interested, I can certain help you out with any stresses or ailments that might be concerning you.”

“.......” Stunned silence. Well, if it wasn’t awkward enough before…

What to say to that? Umm, umm. Couldn’t just yell out “No” at the top of his lungs and go and run away and hide in a hole, he was the Inquisitor after all and he needed to maintain some professionalism. A quick huff out for encouragement, downing the glass he had been clutching for support for that entire horrific gossfest, slapping it back down on the counter. Oops, a bit too hard, it almost broke. Judgement seemed to be a little bit impaired right now. Shock made him let go of it sending it into a spin and onto the floor. Double oops. Sorry bartender, just a loud noise, it didn’t break. 

“That’s a kind offer but I will have to pass. Thank you though, it was very… thoughtful,” the stunned elf replied giving his best diplomatic rejection. He could take Josephine’s job at this rate. Thoughtful? It was downright strange.

Laughter, a hefty chuckle. Oh, phew, he was joking. And he was going to take that chance to leave, turn in for the night. Long journey, onward tomorrow and all of that. “If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.” Aaand he wasn’t. Yep sure, goodnight Bull, going this way outside and you enjoy whatever pretty barmaid, patron or mage you picked up tonight.

Just like stumbling into a brick wall, that was the response he got as soon as he set foot outside of the doors. The fresh night chill disorientating him causing a stumble forward, arms hugging around the support pillar of the veranda, breathing picking up to a hastened pace. That warm feeling his belly that hit and spread throughout his limbs when he had been downing the unpalatable drink now felt like it was churning inside of him, like milk left out in the hot sun all day long. In his younger years when they were learning about the vegetation of the land, he once mistook a berry as edible and discovering the hard way it was a poisonous counterpart. For days he was ill, nausea, cold shivers, delirium and this felt exactly the same way. Did that make alcohol, poison?

He couldn’t stay clinging to the pole for dear life all night, spotting a bench a few waddling steps away. A couple of steps seemed like a lifetime when you are swaying, the tretious track navigated successfully. The landing not so much with a flomp down on the stone bench. “Stupid, stupid idea,” he mumbled the drunkard’s remorseful tune, elbows to knees, chin to palm, cupping his cheeks to hold himself upright.

“Are you alright? You look like you have gotten yourself into a egregious state.” Egrewhat? Always with the big words. Not everyone was privileged with fancy schooling in big universities you know. He grew up in the wilds, being able to read was an accomplishment! 

“Fine, I’m fine. Just need some fresh air,” the woozy elf firmly assured. Surely the effects will pass soon.

“That’s not going to make you feel better.” Dorian took a seat down next to him and rubbed his back soothingly with a circling motion. 

“Worked that out,” came the groan. Fingers worked up through the thick clumps of hair, matted together with blood, sweat and dirt, massaging the side of his scalp, attempting to make the pounding stop. “I feel like I have been clubbed in the head. I’m never drinking again...”

The older man chuckled at him and quite rightfully so. The mantra of the overindulged, the swearing off of the loathsome indisposition for the rest of their days only to repeat the process in the near future. Not him, that’s for sure. He had lasted this many years without touching the stuff, not even the sip of curiosity stolen from an unattended glass. Nothing but the sober life from this point moving forward.

“Come on,” he smiled, moving to his feet. “I will escort you to your room-...” The rest of the sentence stopped by the hand clasping onto his wrist but there was no shift in weight. Dorian looked back, confused. 

“It’s never going to work with us. It was never going to work.” It was hard to hide the anxiety, his state of intoxication contributing to that. They couldn’t continue to avoid talking to each other. Quicker they acknowledge that, they could move on and whatever this thing they had could be forgotten.

“If it’s about what happened-...”

Having this conversation on two different levels was not going to work, Rilien taking the opportunity to rise to his feet, shakily at first but he still had his grasp on Dorian to stop him from stumbling. He wanted to rage at him, tell him he knew about intimacy between cohorts, that he felt foolish for not noticing it earlier. Better yet, why? Why did he do this to him!? Why did he come into his life and act the way he did, lead him on? Did he even care? Was it some sort of game to him? Was he really nothing more than a sexual conquest to him? Was that the truth? 

“It’s not about that.” And yet none of those things he could say, swallowing his pride for the sake of unity. “I care for you, I value you as a friend but if things continue like this, I don’t see a friendship even surviving.”

Silence. It felt like forever. Without any feedback, the elf took it as conversation over. That was it. Rilien released his wrist and gave a couple of pats on his shoulder. Will just leave you to it then and let that sink in, taking a few steps away in leave. “You care for me?”

More than he’d ever know. “Well I was not in it purely for your body, as much of a bonus that was,” Rilien laughed, turning back, giving him a smirk and a suggestive shrug. 

“Can I kiss you, one last time?”

Playing with fire, that was the last request he should have gave into. Everything inside of him should have told him to say no, make it the clean break that it required to be. He should have wished him a good night and walked away. He should have done many things but there he was once again in the taller man’s embrace, up on tippy toes, eyes closed. For that brief moment, all of the shit didn’t matter. Excitement, warmth, comfort, the feeling that time had stopped still. But it couldn’t stay like that, using all of his willpower to push away. One last kiss and now they were officially no more.

“Whiskey? Sweet Maker, how are you even standing?” the mage asked with a lick of his lips. 

Thank you Dorian, thank you for not pressing it further. Acceptance is the first step and now they could move towards rebuilding what they could have had before physical attraction became involved.

“That is a miracle in itself,” Rilien giggled, still with a slight sway in his balance. Somewhat successfully mind you but if he was to get somewhere in a hurry, that could be another story. Never again was he going to let Bull order his drinks for him.

Dorian revisited his offer from before, offering a helping hand back to return to his quarters but it was again declined. It was best that they parted on this note. Besides he needed some time to himself, just a light stroll to clear his mind, work out the drink, maybe vomit. Still not too clear on that one. Three drinks in almost rapid succession, lesson learned. He needed to take a break, resting up against the tree, looking up at the moons. Everything would be okay, he was strong. Moving on from this would not be easy but it was not going to be the end of existence. Better to have him in his life than not at all. It was his own fault, admittedly he fell real hard, real fast. Never had he felt that way about anyone before, his first real crush outside of a physical admiration. Hey he wasn’t innocent as people made him out to be. He had given some discreet glances over at other men while they were bathing, mainly ones in his own clan, sometimes if he spotted a human passing by. It was curiosity!

Turns out that he was not the only one curious about watching people from afar, that unwelcome presence returning. This time he was sure of it. He could see them.

He could only assume that they had let their guard down as he was under the influence, taking into consideration the side effects it had on an elf, expecting him to be completely oblivious of his surroundings. He would have been too if they weren’t hiding in the branches of the tree only a hundred or so metres away, in line with the sky he was looking at, backlit by moonlight. Someone hiding in foliage at this time of the evening was not a common occurrence especially when they were staring directly at him. If they were willing to allow themselves to be seen now then perhaps he could work this to his advantage.

No point in staying there, time to keep on moving. The distance between them would make throwing a knife and hitting the target near on impossible even if he was sober, the distance between them needed to be shortened. He didn’t briskly walk straight there, his steps varied, zig-zagging through. A lost footed step here, a stumble back there. Sometimes he stopped and had mumble conversation to himself, probably a pep talk from what they could see. Observation, it was something he did well. The actual intoxication added the touch of realism on how he had watched people act, getting where they were coming from a lot better now. Only whoopsies, he fell over his own feet, the tumble to the ground scraping his knees on the ragged rocks and yet he felt no pain. This stuff was amazing! “You idiot,” he chuckled at himself, rolling onto his back.

Not all of that was to strategy, the actual tumble was all on himself but the position was good, underneath them and well within reach. The laughter had turned into hysterics, rolling onto his side, clutching his belly. The onlooker could have drawn their own assumptions that the muscles in his stomach were cramping from all the laughter, in fact he was reaching underneath and slipping a knife out from the pouch at his side. Only one shot at this, if he messed it up then they would be tipped off and run but it was a chance he was willing to take. He needed answers to why he was being stalked.

Yelping told him that he had hit the target, the few warm drops landing on his chest driving it more to the point. Branches above shook as they lost their balance, falling out from their perch and onto the ground hard, their cries howling out assuming they landed on the blade embedded somewhere in their body and drove it in deeper. Springing up to his knees, there was a scramble to get to them, connected with a few wildly swung body shots. They wanted to get away, Rilien was not going to let them out of his hold, trying to slow them down with a blow the face, connecting with the ground at full pelt with his own cry of pain. Shit, he felt that one. Alcohol wasn’t the cure all pain relief.

That opportunity was seized with a kick, knocking him off, the spy scrambling to their feet fighting to stay upright. The knife was deeply embedded into their thigh, just beneath their buttock. The Inquisitor pushed himself up to standing, taken back at the sight in front of him.

Another elf. A female, pale, flawless porcelain skin. Not a feature on her feminine face out of proportion, raised cheekbones, the right amount of plumpness to her lips, luscious lashes that would make any man’s heart skip a beat if she battered them. Her long dirty blonde hair meticulously tied back in braids of triplicate, the leather of her clothes firmly hugging and accentuating her curves. Every part of her was emphasized to perfection. She was the semblance of the Elven race that mystified humans.

Impressive as she was, all of that was completely overlooked by the Dalish. After all, she had been following him and now they were face-to-face, she didn’t look like she was doing it out of admiration. She was packing a nice bow on her back and given the way she was fighting back, she was well versed in how to use it.

“Why are you following me!? Who are you!?”

Answers to his demands were not given. Both parties staring each other down waiting for the next move. That injury had to be aching and there was no chance she was going to outrun him, both of them with hindered states or not. There was also the issue with weaponry, knives being the only thing on Rilien where that woman had a bow and arrows, leaving him under-powered. Short range, a quick sweep would have been in his advantage but any amount of distance out of arm's length would see him at the loss. There were there in a stalemate, no talking, no moving and no one around to help. She was looking for a way out, no doubt about that.

That route seemed to have been discovered as she grabbed something from her pocket and tossed it at him, the puff of smoke going up blocking his vision, taking that distraction to a run. She knew those odds to, leaving him in a coughing mess and making the break, a good 20 seconds before Rilien could give chase. Nothing like the thick of battle to give a sobering effect, lighter on his feet now but still not back to full action, enough to close the distance with her almost back in grasp.

Suddenly she stopped and turned back to face him, the Dalish skidding the a halt knowing that she could only be about to lodge an offensive attack on him. His feet were not that responsive, slippery gravel caught under his shoes continuing him forward in a slide, straight into a handful of powder directly in his face. His balance was lost in the confusion, hitting the ground, another bout of coughing, rubbing his eyes to wipe away the traces blurring his vision. Staying down on the ground for too long was not going to end well for him, clambering up to get to his feet, all while trying to keep his wits about him to move on the defensive.

But she didn’t advance, backing away from him one step at a time, matching his own step forward with a limp of her own. She couldn’t run any further, that much he could tell. Then again either could he with the haze still caught in his eyes. Just before he could see her as clear as day, now she was blurring out of focus, an unexpected fog surrounding him making everything hard to see. Reaching out he tried to grab her but there was no one there, each step forward struggling, struggling until he couldn’t go forth any further. The surroundings turning shades of purple with small pops of gold fireworks, the pressure in his skull building. All of the energy fading from his body rapidly and there was no amount of fighting or willing he could do to prevent it.

His legs collapsed underneath him, falling back, a sudden jerk of his neck forward as his head smashed into the rocks. What did she do to him? He could feel her presence there still looming. With the last of his energy, his fingers wiggled to the side blindly reaching, finding her boot and grabbing onto it, not willing to let her go.

“...Why?” he asked once more in a meager croak.

No answers would be received, the darkness had consumed him.


	6. Chapter 6

“Do you think we should check and see if it's alive? Kick it!”  
“It smells dead but then again, elves always smell gross.”  
“Even more reason to kick it.”

“You do know we kidnap children, skin them slowly and painfully while they are still alive over a couple of days. When you finally die, we strip your meat off your bones and make jerky out of it. Quite delicious.”

Being made into human jerky was not on the children’s agenda, squealing and running off in terror. The things that people believed they did, it was absurd. And look, if some children were eaten along the way, it would have been because they were starving and when it comes down to it, you need to sustain your life somehow. There was that one clan out in the Dales that he had heard about that were not of their right mind, wore parts of humans like trophies. “Shem” this and “Shemlen” that. Okay so the stories had some validity to them only taken to the point of hysteria. Hmm, did the City Elves have their own tales? Next came the better question, why were there children trying to kick him?

Too bright! Even through the protective veil of his long eyelashes, the slightest beam from the sun almost made him tear up. Hand up in front of his eyes, palm side up to shield himself, anything to dissipate the death rays enough to look around at where he was. Dirt, rocks, that could be a tree… is that a yellow river!? Seriously, did a dog piss on him!? The pungent smell of the animal urine was enough motivation to get him to sit up, a little too quickly, his brain smacking around inside of its home giving the worse wake up call.

“Do you classify this as a ditch? There is a slight incline to the ground and he is surrounded by gravel?”  
“I’d pay out on that but you did say that he would be beaten close to death and left in the ditch and clearly he is not near enough to death.”

Another welcoming party. Just what his morning or believed-to-be morning, needed. At least this time it was familiar faces, Dorian and Iron Bull there for gloating. “Someone tried to attack me, does that count?” the Inquisitor asked, holding his busted knuckles up as evidence. Or so he thought, noticing the damage when his hand becomes his sun protection. The finer details behind it were a bit sketchy.

“I say it doesn’t. I’ve seen the way you fight Boss, you have a stupidly poor right hook.” Bull was not convinced. “Probably swung at ghosts and hit a pillar.”

Dorian however, sweeping past graciously, snatching the pouch of the big man’s hand and stuffing into his own for safe keeping. “Close enough for me. We should do this again sometime. I do enjoy taking money from you.”

That was not very comforting to know, they were making bets on the aftermath of his drunken rampage and on his mortality or at the minimum, grievously bodily harm. Way to make someone feel all warm and fuzzy. Sitting down on the ground wasn’t going to help him, clambering up to his feet ungracefully with a little slip on the loose pebbles. 

“I’m not kidding around, someone attacked me last night. I know, I hit them with a knife,” Rilien tried to justify all of this, into his pouch, taking a quick inventory check. 

They may have been looking at him like he was a raving lunatic but never in the past had he given them any reason to doubt him. Which made it even more ridiculous to why he had to prove it now. Wha-... that makes no sense. Thinking that he had miscalculated somewhere, he emptied the contents onto the ground, squatting down and counting over them again. There was none missing, all were accounted for. Each one was inspected for any traces of blood, proof that the event went down. Nothing. Only marks on the blades from the natural staining, nothing out of the ordinary. “Don’t look at me like that. I know what I am talking about.”

Even his surroundings were clean. No, no, no, that was not correct. There was a woman, an elf and he had hit her with a knife but then she got him with something and then there was a blank. There should have been traces of blood around, it’s not she had moved his position or anything, right? Dorian could vouch for it, it was that same presence he was talking about when they were up at Storm Coast and… oh, that was something else he did last night. Best not to rub some salt in the open wound.

“Looks like you smacked your head pretty hard there,” Bull pointed out to him, grabbing each side of his head with his mammoth hands. Would hate to piss him off, bet they could crush your skull like a melon. “Not going to need patching up but with how shit you smell, you need to clean it up before infection sets it.”

“Doesn't help that some wild animal urinated on me,” he huffed irritably, pulling away.

Not to mention he was still covered with the mess from the prior blood bath from those two guards. So unclean. The duo were finding hilarity in the events, once again the Herald was being made into the brunt of the joke. Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, he will remember it. Bathing and cleaning of the clothes first. Someone else can decide where they would meet up for breakfast since he walked away from the laughing. 

All the way back he scanned the ground for any evidence, stopping under the tree and looking up at the position he remembered her to be in. _I’m not crazy_. Maybe at this point he was providing himself with self-validation and it really was all a hallucination brought on by the side effects of whatever he drank. What was there to say that he wasn’t drugged and this was the end result? Stresses of the job getting to him? Anything is possible. There was a real possibility that he was losing it and the worst thing was, it wasn’t exactly a position he could step down from and hand it off to a successor. Sorry Herald, that anchor doesn’t jump bodies. Could this be a side effect of it? Bull said that he was probably swinging at ghosts and ever since he had received that mark, he had been more aware of them. Couldn’t always see them but he could feel them. The closer to death the mark brought him, would he be able to feel them more? Now they were forming physical manifestations outside of the demonic forms they had been used to?

Glancing down at his chest, Rilien noticed the heavier droplets of blood on his clothes that stood out over the light spray patterns. Given the age of the blood there was no way in telling if it has been fresher. Looking up at the tree and then down at his shirt again, the two pieces were starting to match up. She bled on him, right when he was underneath her. Something did happen, he was attacked but the question was, was she real or was it a physical manifestation of a spirit?

If there was anyone that knew about spirits, that would be their resident one. Still felt strange to say that they were traveling with and actively seeking help from a spirit. A spirit that was somehow in the mortal realm without possessing the body of a human because his human persona was dead and yet somehow… the whole thing did his head in trying to comprehend it. Even though he was not a mage among his people, one of the teachings they learned were that all spirits were dangerous, you couldn’t differentiate between the benevolent spirits and the demons. Many night around the campfire being told the tales of the Sylvan by the Storyteller were enough to put the fear into the children. The first time he went near a Grand Oak, as soon as the wind rustled the leaves, he literally wet his pants in terror. So best you stay away from them all. And here he was, befriended by one. For now his judgement towards Cole was neutral and he hoped that nothing would be happen to make that tilt towards the distrust.

“It is strange, as I look around, times it feels like I am seeing things for the first time,” Cole mused, watching a butterfly fluttering around. “But I know that he had seen these before. Soft little feet, the gentlest of touch. Enjoyment it brings if only fleeting, proof that all things in this world can still be pure.”

Sigh, this is where it got arduous. The spirit would sometimes go off into cryptic tangents where most of the time you were left confused. The only person who seemed to have a chance of understanding him was the person in direct reference who may drudge up a painful memory he was referring to or Solas who almost had his own secret dialogue going on with him. Some party members were convinced they were plotting something wicked, like slitting their throats while they slept and refused to travel when the two of them were around. Most of it seemed harmless to him but then again if they were right, he would be the one regretting it when he didn’t wake up from sleep.

“Never seen a butterfly before? Or you think you have seen one?” questioned Rilien, trying to break down the talk.

Elvhen powers activate! Folklore would want you to believe that they were the masters of controlling nature and wild animals just flock to their side, probably while they were standing there naked, a stray bird would flutter by to make the scene picture perfect. Although the Halla Keeper had some uncanny ability to understand and sense the halla’s needs, it wasn’t a gift that every Dalish possessed. Very true by the butterfly ignoring his outstretched arm and landing on Cole’s shoulder. Oh, well, that was probably a better option with the amount of attempted ambushes he gets. Wise butterfly.

“Not like this. I think it likes me.”

Right on cue, the colorful wings fluttered and it took flight, ready to break the heart of the one that just made a new friend. Nope, it was true, it did like him, settling on his hat. Looks like he had gained himself a temporarily hitchhiker. Whatever to boost his spirits… oh ha ha, pun. 

“I think so. Hey Cole, could I ask you about spirit things?” Nice segue into it. “I don’t really understand and have some questions.” And he will keep out the fact it was from something he experienced and make it more, general.

“And I do not know if I can really help you,” the ashen blonde man replied, more focused on trying to see the butterfly. “I know so much and yet so little at the same time, things are new and fresh and yet, not. So many things to still learn.”

If only a simple yes or no answer could be given from him. Don’t even think Cole himself knew what he was going on about. Maybe he should wait until they were in the company of Solas for some sort of translations but hmm, he didn’t want to share anything about this around him. Best to try and make do what with he could. “Can I still ask questions?”

“Sure. Ask and I will answer what I can.”

Metaphorical headache coming on again, resist the urge to massage the temples. Okay, let's do this. “Are there more people like you? Spirits I mean. Spirits could take on a physical form. Could there be more than one of you?” No exactly on the level of cryptic as Cole would be but not the most clearest of questions either. If he had to try and translate around him then he could do the same in return.

“Trust me, spirits taking on a physical form is something that you do not want to know about. No offense Kid, nothing against you but spirits and people, don’t mix.”

That was not Cole but that voice was familiar, so familiar that he had to restrain himself from throwing his arms around him in a jubilant embrace. “Varric!” Rilien exclaimed, unable to hold back the overjoyed tone, accompanied with a simple gesture of friendly back-slap. “Sorry what were you saying?”

“Just that spirits and bodies don’t end well. Trust me, personal experience.”

Well now that he had said something, there was a curiosity that needed to be satisfied from both men, even Cole who was more engrossed in the butterfly on his cap changing his focus to hear this tale.

“You tell such good stories Varric. Please will you share this one,” he asked wide eyed and so full of innocence.

Varric was never one to hold back, he spoke his mind, normally in some sort of complaint, a lot. One of the most pickiest dwarfs he knew… okay the only dwarf he knew but assumptions would lead him to believe since most of them lived underground they would take life in its stride. Not him, he had to whinge about something. So when there was the pause of hesitation there, that contemplation if he should really tell the story of what happened or if he should brush it off, it must have been something very personal. For all of his talk, the dwarf did like to keep those things close to him, private.

“A Grey Warden, no, an apostate, I used to know, had one of those spirits inside of him and he blew up the Kirkwall Chantry.” Besides the minor change of title at the beginning, shifted from something admirable to something despised, the rest of the tale was aloof. Details of this man’s life was put out for them to see, the possession by this spirit that in return affected his thought process, amplified the sense of justice he had until the point of vengeance. “He forced his friend’s hand into doing something he didn’t want to do. No one should have to take the burden of executing someone close for their crime.”

That friend was Hawke. A burden he still wore, seen and heard from the time they had spent together before Adamant Fortress. Also the Kirkwall location was a dead giveaway. Did this man’s actions play a part in escalating the Mage - Templar war? Were they all brought together because of what this man started?

“No, I could not imagine making that call. What would make it harder is that this man, he believed in his convictions or the spirit did, enough that he saw the only step he thought possible for the people to hear him… them. Not saying that what he done was correct but when you look at it, we are all murderers. Who knows, maybe one day one of us would have to judge and decide the fate of one of our own.”

If there was crickets in the lands there were moving through, there would be chirping right about now to signify the eerie silence. Conversation was getting too serious, too quick and no one was prepared for this. Err, what does one say now? No one wants to have it pointed out to them that they probably had the same death toll as a “madman” that went out of his way to cause chaos on a mass destruction, truth or not. Umm, someone say something.

“So if you are going to be out here with us, your clumsiness better be fixed. Can’t have you with another gaping hole. Do we need to wrap you in hay bales and then sent you into battle for your own safety?” Your Herald to the rescue. Not that battles were in the upcoming future but let's face it, they could stop to take a piss on a tree and have five guys surrounding them.

“Oh ha ha hah. Let me tell you that is women find scars appealing then, I will gladly turn to the other side. I still can’t take a shit without gut wrenching agony. Strain and muscles cramping and all of that. We all can’t be Andraste’s little miracle. However, word is that you didn’t come out of Storm Coast fairing too well either.”

Absolute shock. “Where in Thedas did you hear such a thing? Lies, all lies.” Of course they all knew that it was not lies but the break in the tension and the playfulness returning was welcomed. So many things of recent had been turning to shit. A moment to play around and joke with each other was truly welcomed. “You are the only one around here who...”

“But Dorian said…”

Sometimes playfulness went over people’s heads and one adjusting to the world spirit was one of them. Varric tried on hold in his laughter and failed as his story was suddenly shut down by this speaker of truth. With a stiff and obviously forced and faked cough, the elf stiffly elbowed the spirit in the ribs, accompanied with less than threatening glare. “I said, all lies.”

As much as he enjoyed the moments of carefree, there were the moments by himself that he cherished as well. Something that he didn’t have much of these days that he was highly in demand. Rilien had taken one of those rare moments. While the others with him were off, taking in the last moments of the sun before it set, he was sitting cross legged on his bedroll with a leather bound book in his hand and a quill in the other. Scribbling down a couple of notes into the book that appeared to have seen as many battles has he had with how tattered it was, he stopped briefly to dip the tip into the ink and then back to jotting down more, repeating the process every time the ink ran out. Even as the last of the sun faded, it wasn’t enough to slow him down, another couple of pages complete.

Visibility was not his issue to stop him but the rising chill in the air was, hugging his arms around his chest to suppress the stiff shiver from getting worse, rubbing his arms for heat. Better start a fire before they get back. Lid capped on the ink, the cord wrapped around the cover and tied with the quill slipped underneath to secure it, that was how it was when he left it. That was not how it was when he returned, somewhere between collecting the wood and starting the fire, his young assassin partner had found it unattended and helped himself to it. How long he had been there? Could have been a couple of moments or for the entire time he was gone. One of his traits, being able to move through without being noticed and leaving without people remembering him. Still didn’t help that he was participating in a complete invasion of privacy. As much as he wanted to take the aggressive route and snap that an action like that was not acceptable, deep down he was just curious and his intentions were innocent.

“Cole, that’s personal. Can you please put that back?” he calmly asked. He would have liked that it was done straight away but he took a few moments, probably finishing what he was reading before returning everything the way he found it. “Thank you. If you want to have a look at something that doesn’t belong to you, it is best that you ask. You don’t want to upset someone.”

Sitting down back on the bedroll in front of him, Rilien went into his supply pack and pulled out a pouch filled with an assortment of dried fruit and nuts and offered some. Oh do spirits need to eat? Maybe it was out of courtesy but a pinch was taken and nibbled upon while he took a handful for himself.

“I asked Dorian what a slave was and he would not answer. Said to come and speak to you about it,” Cole blurted out like it was nothing. It was so much of a natural question to him that he put his finger in his mouth and picked at the nuts caught in the molars. So casual.

“Of course he did,” the Dalish huffed with a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head. To him it would be just one of the many questions he asked to learn about the world but trust Dorian to pass that off onto him and avoid the subject. Even worse, given their history. Let the knife-ear answer a question about his kind being used for remedial tasks and mistreatment.

Still, he deserved to know the answer, only that he was able to give the rendition of it that he was accustomed to. What tales have been passed down to him, if they were all correct he couldn’t verify it. The problem with the flow of information only being relied upon through word of mouth between the Dalish was that any fanatical twist could be spun on it. Something vindictive, over glorified, it works both ways with emotional connotations easily threaded through the narrative. Their world was very enclosed, anyone or thing that came through and tried to change their way of life after they had lost so much, was dismissed as fallacy and their own rendition would be adapted. So maybe there was truth that not all slaves were treated as lesser being and given a better life. That did not stop them from being shackled like animals. Once you are a branded a slave, would they ever escape that life?

“Did that help at all? I still don’t even know why Dorian said to ask me. Tevinter actively has slaves so he would have been much better to answer it.” He’d place bets it was to get under his skin.

“Why do you flinch when you hear or say his name?”

…That was not the type of question he was expecting. Further clarification to what he had said, yes. Why he was opposed to slaves, also a valid question. There were so many possibilities that could have come from it and what was what he said. “When I hear or say whose name?”

Lucky he didn’t have a mouthful of drink because when Cole came out and said “Dorian,” he would have spat it everywhere. Instead his jaw dropped and his right eyebrow cocked, utterly perplexed on where he pulled that out from. There was no physical tell signs because he had been actively making sure that there was none, refusing to let the feelings become malignant. 

“On the inside, you do.” He hadn’t even said a word and yet he knew what he was thinking? No, that is impossible. “A quick jab right about here,” he continued, reaching out and pressing against the bottom of his rib cage. “You want it to stop but it won’t.”

Rilien didn’t know what to make of this. Cole sensed pain in people and tried to help them but that was not needed for this. Yeah, fine, it hurt and yes, he had a pain in his chest that was fixated between his stomach and his heart that felt like a stiff hit whenever he was brought up. Dropping everything and just moving on wasn’t as simple as a snap of the fingers. He was trying! He didn’t want to talk about it, he just wanted to forget about it.

“Sorry Cole but your spirit powers are way off,” the elf laughed, passing it all off as one bad joke. “Did Dorian put you up to this?”

“You hide your pain, you have always done it. You are gone, why am I the monster? With one breath they say they care and still at arm’s length. Mamae, tell me why I am wrong? All your fault, all of mine.”

Deafening silence, sound stopping around him, like time had suddenly stood still. Words spoken clearly having an impact on him. The worst thing is that he had no reason why. Whoever Cole was referring to, it wasn’t him. How could it be? He couldn’t even remember his mother. Whatever ghostly juu juu this guy was peddling was completely off… and yet, it felt as if a weight had been smashed down onto him. W-Why was his hands shaking? Only a couple of lines spoke in riddle and this was the result. It could have been anything, it was all depending on how you interpreted it, finding small identifiable pieces and tying it into your own life to make it relatable. Was that the trick? Maybe Cole wasn’t really a compassion spirit but just one that was good at spinning his words like a trickster, playing off what was around them with body’s tells until he found the correct something to focus on. Still didn’t explain why he was reacting the way he was, nothing he said was known to him.

“That is so crazy,” the shaken man laughed it off, stowing his snacks back into the pouch and rising to his feet. “By the way, you are way off base. Better luck next time, yeah? Say, the others have been gone for a while and I can guarantee that they failed to find provisions, probably found a water hole somewhere to drink the night away. Stay here and watch the camp for me, okay? Thanks. I’ll go in search for them.”

Turns out his getaway was not going to be so easy, the other to his feet, grabbing the back of his jacket. “You should let it out. Stop pretending it doesn’t exist.”

For an entity, he was much stronger than he looked, having to twist and lurch his chest forward, furthered with a roll his shoulder to get the leverage to loosen the hand. “Whatever you are looking for or want me to do, you are not going to provoke me Cole,” Rilien replied, turning around with his hands up in the air, continuing to walk away but backwards from him. “There is nothing wrong, thanks for your concern. We will find you someone else to fix along the way. How does that sound?”

This is why everyone was unsure about him, untrusting and wanting to steer well clear of him. He had no time for psychological tricks and while he appreciated his work when it came to easing the minds of the many they had lost after the attack on Haven, he didn’t want him in his own head. So long, out of here. Turning back around and walking away...

“How does it feel being the Inquisition’s slave?” One sentence had never stopped him in his tracks so fast. This was all part of his mind fuckery, some sort of huge elaborate plot concocted with the Tevinter, revenge for officially breaking it off with him. He always went on about the mind games they played back at home, they way they tried to undermine each other, the backstabbing, the bitching. If this was all of Dorian’s doing… “You spend your time running around for everyone, clean up their mess, at their beckon call. By your own definition, isn’t that what a slave is? That mark on your hand brands you to them. They treat you like one. You will never be anything more than that to anyone here.” 

Nails dug deep into his palms, using the pain to slow down the aggression. When that didn’t work, he bit into the inside of his lip, crushing his teeth into flesh until the first bitter taste of blood hit his tongue. He was livid. It wasn’t settling down, pacing a couple of steps back and forth while he digested what was being said, all logical thoughts failing him. All he could see was red. 

“Why don’t you just say what you are really pushing for,” Rilien yelled, turning back to him once again with his arms up in the air. Open season! Come at him! Let’s just get all of this shit out on the table now!

“No repulsive knife-ear like you would _ever_ be worth _anything_ more.”

One minute being called a bastardized slave by the other man, the next there was an arm securely locking him in place, dragging him away kicking and screaming. What happened in-between was drawing a blank, overcome with blinding rage that something has snapped. Cole was on the ground begging Iron Bull to let the elf go, telling him that was not his fault and it was something that he needed to do. Varric was looming over him, checking for injuries, sticking up for him with the justification that there was a good chance he had no idea what he was talking about. On the ground was one of his daggers, the blade edge stained red. He had attacked him…?

If he was in his right mind then he would have been feeling absolutely shit, apologizing for acting out the way he had. Provoked or not, he would have never threatened physical abuse against someone to resolve an issue. That was not who he was. This was not the man he wanted to be. 

“Boss, go and walk it off now!” it was commanded of him, seemingly calm enough to be released from the firm grip. And yet as soon as Bull let him go, he was once again back at trying to get to him. Short lived as this time he was knocked onto the ground straight onto his ass courtesy of a fist to his face.

“I don’t know where the Kid would have picked something like that up?” Varric shrugged, attending to the cut on his arm. Thankfully only a slight defensive wound that a bandage would fix up.

Ignoring the throbbing from half of his face, Rilien rose back to his feet. He knew exactly where he got it from, his head snapping straight to Dorian. His chest heaved, seething. It didn’t get too far with the hand pressing against his chest and pushing him away with another warning that if he did not go for that walk then he would be forcefully put him back down and this time, he would not be getting back up so easily.

Storm off like a spoiled brat, that was something he wanted to do. Be selfish for once, stop being the mediator. Fuck all of them for once! “... I’m sorry.”

He couldn’t do it. That smacked to the head must have knocked sense back into him because all of that hatred was gone, replaced with self-loathing. Bowing his head to them, his sullen eyes remained fixated at the ground, unable to give them any eye contact as he left.

Whoever this person was, he did not like him.


	7. Chapter 7

Delicate fingers trace around the intricate patterns engraved, carefully feeling the differences in the textures. On top the surface of the weathered granite was smooth, the temperature a couple of degrees lower than the surroundings. Parts where it has been chipped away were rough and gritty, the same texture of a cat’s tongue. Pressing that little bit too hard had crumbs of sandstone left on his fingertip so he rested the piece down against the rock he had originally found out, being extra careful not to destroy parts of history that have been long since forgotten. 

Who was responsible for this? Did they create these drawings with the hope that in the future someone would stumble upon the petroglyphs like they had, where they wanted to share their story? Was it a child who was merely drawing and did not know better, leaving behind the remnant of their curious chaos?

For being part of a race that lost all of their identity, who lost themselves and to this date, still did not record their lineage outside of word of mouth, this was astounding. What got the euphoric feeling circulating further is when he had discovered that the history they had been looking at was from his own people from that time long since gone. Under his fingers had been a part of their extinct history. They rarely came across anything new. He couldn’t wait to tell his Keeper about this.

Kneeling down in front of a stone tablet, his eyes scanned the markings, trying to decipher it. “In elgar sa vir mana... in tu…” Unanticipated pressure bore down on him, like the weight of his clan was riding on his shoulders to make sure he got this right. Da'len, you are taking on this responsibility for us, for the elvhen, no pressure. “...setheneran din emma na.” If that was correct or not, he couldn’t tell. Not like they have a spell checker for a long lost elvish language to fix the mistakes.

“You can read? That comes as quite the surprise coming from a Dalish,” came the mocking comment from behind him.

Besides the sarcastic undertones, he was actually correct. Being taught the basics of reading and writing which may be more common in other cultures, were not in his own. Technically their own since the other male was an elf too.

“My father taught me how to read. I don’t know where he got the books from. I do remember that we had to keep them hidden so it wouldn’t cause any commotions because shock, horror, how dare a Dalish hunter learn how to read.” Those books fill your head with all the crazy ideals of the Shemlans and the next thing you knew, you were off to the city and you would then have a half-blood and forever be shamed by the clan. “He would always tell me that I was there was “greatness in my future”. I don’t think he meant this. No one could predict that I would glow green and close breaches.”

Talking about them openly like this always pulled on his heart strings, reminding him on how much he missed them all. This was the longest he had ever been away from his clan. While he was out on a long scouting expedition or moving on a hunt, he knew that he would be returning. At times, the break from them was enjoyable, at times he liked being on his own or in a small group of close people but now, more and more every day it was becoming apparent that he may never see them again.

Turning his attention away from the hunk of stone, Rilien’s smile grew wide, amused by his upcoming revelation. “But I have no clue what it is saying,” he clarified with a slap of his hands together. Yep, it’s all well and good being able to read languages, piecing together what they say to sling some sort of sentence up but actually knowing what the hell it said. Good luck with that. He could have insulted someone’s ancestors for all he knew.

“That is where I come in,” Solas reminded him. “There is such a wealth of knowledge out there, the language would not be in such a broken state if the Dalish stopped keeping the information to a selected few and shared it freely and openly with the other clans.”

“For once we are in agreement with something.” It was due to his own personal preference that he did not speak Elven freely and openly like others. Many of his own clan would sporadically slot in words of their native tongue to help retain some of that unity, mainly greetings and titles. Rilien believed that if he could not speak it in its entirety then he would not speak it at all. Out of respect he would use it with the dignitaries but other than the occasional slip here and there with an emotional outburst, he would speak the universally accepted equivalent. “I wonder if there are clans out there that are fluent in Elvish. You obviously have a good grasp on it. Why not teach others?”

Finally he turned his attention away from the area he was investigating, facing the Inquisitor. His body language turned to the defensive, arms crossed and his body rigid. Something he said must have touched a nerve. “Because I have no desire to do so. You and I are not the same, the Dalish are not my people. Those elves that live in the cities are not my people.”

“I know, I know! Solas, please, I am not trying to start a fight with you,” the Dalish tried to explain, hands up in the air showing that he was surrendering. “I am just ask-...”

“So you are not trying to start a fight with me but you willingly attacked Cole unjustifiably? Someone who is a pure and kind soul.”

Ahh, that makes sense. Most of those had joined the Inquisition, he had set off on the wrong foot and Solas was no exception. Only with a majority of the team, differences were overlooked, miscommunications were patched and they were able to grow and become better acquaintances. Friends? Maybe not go that far yet. Yet all three elves in the group could not get along, always getting to a sort of accepting relationship of each other before something smashed it down again. For Solas, it would appear to be the recent events with the spirit.

Unconsciously, Rilien touched his cheek, the painful reminder of what had transpired. The swelling had gone down enough now to be able to see out of his eye, with the deep purple welt left over from where he was struck. How many times must I apologize for that? Right now, he could not feel any more ostracized by his group because clearly, this was all of his fault according to them. 

“I was not of a right mind and I know I should not have lashed out against him. It was not intentional, I can assure you,” he tried reasoning with him, knowing he was fighting a battle that he would probably not win.

It was not enough to move his attention away from the rock tablet he started examining, find the focus on that far more engrossing than hearing an explanation for his actions. Fine, if he was not going to hear it then he was not going to waste further time on it and would consider the conversation over. That was until Solas spoke.

“He spoke the truth. You are a slave. While you are not carrying out a life of servitude to a physical master, you are marked just like the slaves of old.”

The Rilien of late would have lashed out, spat the accusations and stormed out. Not this time. Instead he took a calming breath, fought the urge of his body language to close up and waited. The older man would have an explanation for his statement and truthfully, with all of this culture around them, a little more wouldn’t hurt even if it was a negative.

“A stigma, a mark branded into the flesh leaving the wearer unable to hide who they were. Originally it was bound to criminals, to force their status to be known openly, where they would have their foreheads scolded with heated metal to punish them. Later this was adapted to slaves that fled from their master, only to be marred on recapture. Maybe you should ask the Tevinter Magister about that one, I’m sure it's still a practise they use there.”

“Was there a point to all of this Solas? Or is this one of your forms of cruel and unusual punishment?”

“Just think about it. Why wait for them to run when you could mark them from the beginning? The Elven Pantheon, nobility would brand their slaves with the markings of their favoured deity. Arlathan fell and these brandings were forgotten and yet, the Dalish who were so fixated on preserving their culture they brought it back and passed it off as some coming of age ritual where you must endure the pain to be seen as ready. Your vallaslin represents Mythal, if I am not mistaken.”

That he had correct. Compared to some of his brethren, his face markings were quite minimal. The mirrored markings spanned out incrementally, much as growing branches from a new sapling. Starting just aside from the bridge of his nose spanning along the curves of his rosy cheeks, following the trail above his cheekbones, enhancing his youthful looks by making his cheeks appear chubby, and then completing at his temples. She was the protector, much as he wanted to be which is why he chose her.

“...and yet yours is crimson in colour.” 

It felt like Solas wanted to carry on and yet he held back, studying him for some sort of reaction. None was given. What did the colour of his blood writing have anything to do with it? They may have been able to choose the divinity they followed but that was all. The rest was up to the Keeper. The complexity was determined by the how long you could endure. The colour, well he never paid much attention to it before. Now thinking back, a lot of his clan had black, grey, white, brown, some even blue. Come to think of it, he was the only one who was red. Why was that so significant?

“Crimson markings...” the older elf started, prepared to fill in the blanks. “...are worn by the people who follow the ways of The Forgotten Ones. Lethallin, your Keeper must have been petrified of you if they thought you were to be branded forever with the marks of those who wanted nothing more than to cause fear and terror.”

If only Solas had stopped there, made his point, dropped it and got back to work. Instead he continued to twist the knife in deeper, pushing the issue further. He was the second person as of recent to refer towards him as this sort of monster, someone that the people he shared his life with were afraid of. Whatever their reasons for bringing this up, they were wrong. Completely wrong. Much like the Dalish was according to the hedge mage, just one thing after another he shot down as incorrect. His heritage and culture mocked, told that everything they stood up against and tried to preserve was wrong.

He continued to bite his tongue, not give any excuse to rile him up further. All that went to shit when it was stated that the vallaslin could be removed, he had the means to do it and yet after that attack on Cole, he would never been deemed worthy of that privilege.

“That’s enough!” Rilien snapped, pointing his finger towards him in an aggressive manner. “You despise the Dalish, fine, you have your own reasons but how about you show me some respect!” Everything inside of him was saying grab a hold of him by the scruff of the collar and swing a punch into his face. No, he would not stoop to that level. Lately all he had been doing was hurting people and for once, this was going to be solved with words, not violence. The only threatening actions he was going to get was the stabbing of his finger at him, drilling the point in that he was one hundred percent done with this shit. “I have done nothing to you except holding some small glimmer of hope that I could find something relatable of what I have left behind in you. Instead all I have gotten is hatred and loathing. For whatever the Dalish have done to you then I am sorry. I _am_ Dalish, I _am_ an elf and nothing is going to change that. So how about you stop judging me because of whatever perceptions you have of my people because you have no damn clue of who I am!”

Rilien was not prepared to wait for the awkward silence to end, snatching a lit torch from the wall and making the first steps to continue down the unexplored path. All he wanted was a good moment to himself to cool his head, maybe leave Solas pondering about the way he had been treating him. The first word came when he was almost out of earshot, spinning on the ball of his foot. Apologies were too late. If he wanted to say something then he could come to him later on, in his own time, outside of thinking it would fix the damage that was done now that it had been aired. By the time he made the end of the fifth word, he had received an onslaught of elvish that shut up him. He could take it as another reminder that they were indeed the same race as much as he liked to deny it.

“Should have at least asked what I was looking for first,” Rilien morosely muttered to himself.

It wasn’t a complete waste of time. After all, he was scanning his surroundings, waving the torch over the cavern walls and looking for anything that seemed out of the ordinary. Cryptic writing markings and all of that jazz, there has been nothing. It would have helped if Solas had been more open about this artefact and not just “when you see it, you will know.” The only way he would know is if he started to glow green.

“At this rate, I will end up down in the Deep Roads.” 

Ugh, this was utterly pointless. His frustration was displayed by throwing up his hands in defeat, turning around to look at the path just travelled. Fine, very well. He would head back. Another useless venture, another dead end. It was something that they were all getting used to. Do you want to be unsuccessful at life? Want to feel as if you are a constant failure? Like the feeling of being so close and then suddenly have the rug pulled out from underneath you? If yes then join the Inquisition! And if you are lucky you may come out of it ali-...

_Crack!_

...What was that? Instinctively the rouge took a couple of paces back away from the source of the sound to create some distance between himself and whatever it could have been. Backwards meant back deeper into the tunnel and potentially into a dead end. For all he knew it could have been a nug, a vicious swarm of nugs that would carrying him off to their nug king for judgement. 

_Craaaaaaack!_

O-Or that might have been the ground ready to give way underneath him. Oh shit. Don’t make any sudden moves. Arms moved out to the side to steady himself, the torch swaying back and forth from the shaking. Which way should he run? Could always take a punt and bolt in the direction he came from and hope that he could make it to the edge of wherever the sinkhole is before it collapsed. There was even the possibility that the source originated from there and he had already disturbed the ground by walking on it once so the steps backwards is what helped to start the process.

No more time for contemplating, it was react or not as the rocks crumbed apart underneath him, sucking his foot down to the ankle. Well… shiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.

Taking a leap of faith was the first thing that come to mind, lurking himself forward, arms out with the hope that he was going to reach the edge. The rest of the ground gave way, his legs plunging downwards and both hands clambering to stay up. Loose rocks and dirt slipped under his fingers, pieces breaking off in his hands. Legs swinging like a pendulum countering the efforts his hands were doing. Continually he tried to grasp at anything solid, gaining new found faith calling out to Andraste to save his ass. Without her divine intervention, even though he knew she was not responsible for the two previous saves, he would surely fall down into the abyss. Maybe even spiked on some primordial booby trap. Right now that was looking like his fate.

With one all-mighty heaving through the chest and shoulders, using the last slipping rock he was holding onto, the elf through himself upwards. Nails dug tightly into the first thing he grabbed, fingers curled like claws keeping him in place. Yes, in place! He was not moving. S-Success! Everything had settled and was holding steady for the time being but for how long, that was the question. His heart raced faster than a galloping steed, perspiration pour from his brow from the exertion of frantic climbing and the sheer terror he just experienced. If he wasn’t for the fact he would lose grip, the redhead would have pinched himself to see if he was alive or if it was all a cruel dream before death.

“Ha! Andraste, if you really are the divine hand that is guiding me then you are a beauti-...” 

Sounds of crunching and cracking of rocks about to give way resumed, Rilien looked up at the ledge he was clinging for dear life to. The ground started to falter, bending vertically under his weight. Tree roots that had grown through the ground in a long forgotten past where what stood between him and the drop. One by one, the roots snapped, fraying like twine. Smug happiness he had just a second ago was quickly overridden by a whimper, thanks to impending doom. 

“... Typical.”

Those who talked about this moment through the records would tell of the tale that he remained calm and cool until the end, slipping away into the darkness with one arm outstretched that was the last to let go of its grip. They would say that he knew his time had come, that moment of clarity hit him that the only thing he was resentful was, was the fact that he did not have the chance to close the breach, failing everything he left behind. His last thoughts were of the faces of the ones that valiantly fought for him, asking for forgiveness before he disappeared into the depths of the earth, never to be seen again.

Which would be the biggest pile of dung you have ever heard in your life because what he really did was scream with the highest of pitches you would ever have heard, flailing his arms and legs around still trying to desperately grab onto something on the way down. His last thoughts were not on anyone but the repeated mantra of “shit shit shit shit shit” so whoever was going to be writing that gobbly goop was completely off base.

Also the eternal depths part was also way off, all of the fussing had turned him around enough to collide with the rubble scattered ground. Back first thankfully, avoiding the bone shattering impact that would have happened if he landed directly on his feet but still dramatic of a depth enough to hit with a much defined thunk and crack. There was surely going to be a cracked rib or two in that, every inch of him screamed agony but that was the only part of him that was screaming now, the knock had winded him. His diaphragm spasmed, struggling to get his breath. All he needed was a few moments to focus and take a few deep breathes, he just needed… he wasn’t going to get that as a light above caught his eye. That was his torch, with fire, flames. That was his torch and it was teetering on the point of tumbling over the edge, which more than likely would land in his vicinity and knowing the way everything was going, on him and then he would ignite.

Are You There Andraste? It's Me, Rilien. By the time this is finished, he will not believe in your presence again but for now, just think of him as being as devoted to you and the Maker as any other person within the Chantry would and give him the strength to roll out of the way. Broken, bloodied and breathless, he put all of his energy into rocking his body to gain momentum to move, his lilac eyes widening in terror as it started its descent. There was far too many in the elven pantheon to call out to every one of them for assistance so it was back to what he believed in, just doing whatever he could to get himself out of this. Reaching over to his right, the rubble he had landed on was raised into a peak enough to make him uneven, allowing the first bit of momentum needed to start a roll. The rest was sheer willpower and grunting for strength, putting those battered muscles to use, throwing his other arm over to complete the arch, bringing on the roll out of the way.

Just in time to miss the fire charring something, only which it bounces and continued downwards. Much as he did the same. Turns out he had not hit the ground, only landed on the ledge. Mother fuc-... oof! Chest first this time smack down into a pool of water, not enough to stop any of the impact of the knock, just enough to splash and put out the torch. Also, not at all drinkable, a mouthful of the stagnant water swallowed bringing on more coughing and spluttering, forcing him to ignore injury once again to roll over onto his back to not drown. Bet one of those massages that Dorian kept on going on about would feel delightful after this.

“Do you spend your entire time living in dark, dingy holes?” Dorian once again making his grand entrance, bursting onto the scene with a witty remark that would snap almost anyone away from their task and pay attention to him. “No, no, don’t answer that. The paleness of your skin practically gives that away.”

Nothing. Dammit, it was no fun without a reaction. He was going to get one even if that involved getting up closer to him and waving his hand in front of his face, which he absolutely did. “Riveting I am assured, however, I am looking for our valiant Herald. I heard you dragged him down to this musty hovel and now I will need to steal a moment of his time which he is probably going to be thanking me for as obviously, you are not the life of the party.”

“Do you see him around here? No? Remarkably, that is your answer. If you opened your eyes up, you could have clearly answered that for yourself.” Solas’s attention still stayed firm on translating, not even looking up to point in the direction of the opening to the next cave. “He is down there somewhere.”

“Somewhere?” Why does he have the feeling that the two of them have butted heads again? So you don’t know where he is exactly?”

“He stormed off in a right state so no, I don’t.” 

And good to know that his tension detector was working and correct. He really should not have expected any different. A sigh and a roll of his eyes. Look, he know he was not innocent in a lot of issues but how this team had not imploded in on each other, it was a miracle.

“And I’m sure you did nothing to drive him to anger that would make him flounce off down the unexplored path. You, Grumpy Grandpa, the highly elven racist delight that you are,” the Atlus mage sneered, brimming with his usual derision.

Stone silence. Great. He will take that as a victory and set off down the path to find one missing Inquisitor.

How deep did he go in? Is he even down here? Bleh, the air is so stale without any clear airflow coming through which on the plus meant there was no other way but back if he was to get out but it also meant that he would have been breathing in so much settled crap. Dust, pollen, many of an animal’s faecal matter. Mmm enticing. Oh why hello there, this certainly isn’t what the beaten path should be like. Literally beaten and collapsed.

“If you are alive down there, make a groaning noise,” Dorian called out, leaning over the ledge while holding his torch out to get a better look. That looked like a bit of a drop down there, could see the bottom but if someone was to fall down there, they would not be in the most happiest of shape.

Again, silence. There was no movement he could see down there, no body lying amongst the rubble too. That did not mean that there were in the clear. The pathway could have collapsed after he had walked by where it has not been noticed and he continued to walk the path until he found the dead end and turned back. He could have been alive enough to drag his mangled body out of the direct line of sight, where he collapsed and died. Just the thought of that made his heart beat faster and his anxiety level skyrocket. “Dammit Rilien, if you are dead, I swear…”

“You swear what?”

Oh dear Maker, how his heart rate spiked with the sudden appearance the elf when just seconds go was envisioning his demise. He was going to get grey hairs at this rate. In fact, he thinks he could feel them sprouting right now. With the amount of undue stress that his body was undertaking, a large portion from that guy down there, he would have full on pepper streaks soon enough.

“Was that not dramatic enough?” Dorian did not need the fire down low to know that he would have had a smug of a grin on his face. The way that his arms were akimbo was testament enough, knowing that stupid look he gets that follows along with it. Jerk. Damn, look at that. There just happened to be some loose rocks near his boot, oops, his foot accidentally swept through and showered a few of various sizes down there near him. If some of them were to hit him, well, he couldn’t be held responsible for it. “Ouch, watch it you numpty.” Looks like some of them did.

“Numpty? Even your insults are adorable. The things you Southerners say,” he grinned amused. 

“Hey Dorian, will you just shut up and go and get some rope and get down here.” 

Unless it was some sort of strange punishment for taking that jab of him, what the Inquisitor just said made no sense. “Why would I want to go down there when we could just pull out you?”

“Because…” He paused long enough to walk away back out of sight, not even the torch light could reach him. That wasn’t going to prove to to be much of a problem, the room illuminating green. Oh that can’t be good. Nothing around that anchor on his hand was good. Whenever that thing started to glow, all hell would break loose. What was down there exactly?

“...you are going to want to see this.”


	8. Chapter 8

His head tilted back and forth examining the structure in front of him, unsure of what to make of it.

“So there is no death and destruction?”  
“No.”

When that did not work, his hand cupped his chin, the inner edge of his middle finger stroking the soul patch, furthering his attempts to disassemble the situation.

“No creature from the abyss about to tear our throats out?”  
“Nope.”

Well now he was utterly confused on why he was asked to come down here. A little while ago he was promised spectacular marvels and excitement, the young man’s excitement level so on edge that he thought he was going to piss himself like an ecstatic puppy. Now that he was down in the wretched hole breathing in the bouquet of the offensive stagnant water that wafted its stench throughout the small enclosure, he was immediately regretting his decision to come to the rescue.

“When you called me down here with an amount of urgency, I did not think I would be staring at something so…”  
“Amazing? Unique?”  
“Banausic.”

Again back to that puppy reference, the doe-eyed head tilt that would melt any heart looking up at him, confused.

“Humdrum, bromidic, mundane? Dull as dishwater? Come on Inquisitor, one of these has to be getting through.”

Those certainly hit the spot and so did his hand, straight across his bicep in a slap, a playful one or so he thought. When Dorian chuckled at getting the one up him once again, it was followed through with a shove that had a bit of force behind it. Okay, so maybe, just maybe he took it that little bit too fair but the elf made it so easy.

Play time fun was over, back to the large arch in front of them. From what he had gathered from Rilien’s explanation, the ground gave way, he fell down into the cavern and then he stumbled upon this while trying to find a way out. All of that sounds fairly logical. What was not about this was how his mark started to react to it because right now, no green glow, no disturbances in the veil. It was like whatever the source of it had suddenly vanished. If he was a betting man and he was, he would place his bets on this structure being tied into it, but what way was the question.

It was not something that he would have in the hallway of his home as an attractive welcoming piece but he may have been overstretching the truth about it being bland. Whoever or whatever made it had put the time into crafting it and some of that did not even seem physically possible. Brown stone based but not the same stone that covered the walls and ground around them, speckled with indigo and gold that shimmered like a jewel when the flames of the torch waved overhead. The same rock was used for the supporting pillars that rose up high and angled the curvature to a tip at the top. What piqued his interest more was the tree branches that protrude through the stone base and curled around the rock, twisting and hugging. At the top they clumped together densely, flowing from to the tip outwards. How did the tree get set in stone? Some of the wood was hand carved with intricate swirls and patterns, the main body of it appeared to have grown that way. If anything else, it looked more of a set piece, like a grand curtain in a ballroom, something that would be placed in a home rather than the underground.

“So... how are you?” Dorian asked breaking the dead air. Hmm, this panel in between the two pillars looks interesting.

“Oh no, really? Are we really going to do this here?”

There was something very peculiar about this surface. It did not look like anything he had ever seen. Perhaps if he just wiped off the thick dust layer from it, he could look at it better… oh. “Do what?” Dorian asked, turning his attention away from the object.

“Sit me down and make me get all emotional and let it out all. About us. About all of this,” the elf started, swinging his arm around the cavern motioning to the non-existent examples. “I’m not deaf Dorian, the whispers behind my back are practically being yelled.” And so was on that front, the volume of his voice grew. However, words and pitch did not match. He wasn’t angry, just boisterous. “The Inquisitor is losing the plot they say. I’m trying, thank you but I am fine.” Losing the plot alright, the case and point was ended with a giggle.

“...I meant the fall,” Dorian clarified further, more perplexed with the odd reaction. “You are nursing your ribs, your nose does this cute button wrinkle and you are chewing on the inside of your bottom lip every so often which is a clear indication of you trying to hide your pain.” And shh, he might have purposely worded it to help push towards an outburst. It was clear as day that the stresses of the position that was unfairly thrown upon him were getting to him, the worst thing was he was bottling it up. He always bottled it up. Maybe his brain finally broke? “Don’t give me the ‘I’m fine’ response. Do I need to remember the last time you kept something from us and how that went down?” There would be no coddling or castigation, the decision was his alone.

But there was nothing. After a minute of waiting for any kind of response, the mage gave up with a dispirited sigh and turned his attention back to the prior, even then he couldn’t go back to the full focus on it. Ugh, such a frustrating man! Without anything said, he was able to get under his skin. Why did he even bother? He should have just fell down the hole, died a horrible agonizing death and he would be free from this constant nagging feeling of worry and dread. Never has one man gave him so many scares and better yet, why was he getting himself worked up into an inward tissy over him? 

Then he was there, standing at his side, giving him a soft nudge with his shoulder to grab his attention. Still he insisted he was fine even after the vivid description mentioning going down like a sack of shit, the spreading bruise across his ribs that reminded him of the aftermath of one nug exploded by magic and the fact that his shallow breathing made him sound like a wheezing old man. Netherless, he assured him that none of that mattered because he had just chowed down on an amazing bottle of elixir that an alchemist made a few towns back and he was feeling wondrous. Ohh. That explained a few things, he was off his head.

“How worried were you that I was dead? You were so worried I was dead. I know you are worried because you always use my name when you are worried. Normally it is ‘Inquisitor this and Inquisitor that’ but when you think the situation is serious, you call me by my name.”

That was not the only revelation that had come to him of recent. There was a constant crave for a physical connection with him and he was not talking about walking down the dusty path holding hands together. Sex to him was the only form of intimacy he had. Carnal knowledge, it dates back to the dawn of time. The lascivious desire to be intertwined with someone, spending that moment no matter how ephemeral it may be, where you are their centre of attention. Heated breathes, deep pounding heartbeat, the faint glistening of sweat. Nothing could be hidden when you were rhythmically rocking, leaving yourself open exposing all vulnerabilities.

Every time the elf got himself in that situation where his personal safety was at risk, the urge grew stronger. Right now, he wanted to caress the swollen corner of his lips, slowly move in, making sure he had his full undivided attention. It would not move from there, leaving him to contemplate what would happen next while his lips lingered close enough to barely feel the warmth. Not until that stammered breath would he allow the anticipation to end, pressing his slightly parted lips against him sensually, teasing him with small kisses until the hair on the back of his neck prickled in excitement.

Maybe it would be okay to test the waters, lowering his head down to match the smaller man’s height, drawing in closer... 

“I’m standing right here,” came the grand announcement with the clearing of his throat to ground the point. “There is a better time and place for fraternizing.”

Distance between them suddenly split by a foot, each taking a step to the side away from each other. “We weren’t frat-...” Rilien started his justification of what the other elf was supposedly seeing. No further need to explain, cut short by the hand up in front of his face.

“Solas, your blandness is like white noise to your voice, it drones you out.” Ahh taking stabs at him was oddly satisfying. If only Vivienne was here then he could count on her to take a jab or two at the same time. “And trust me, you would have heard the Inquisitor’s moans from all the way up the track if we were.”

Beet red blushing was ignored, so was the grumbles in retort. The victory was his. Short lived as it was, the attention of the other two were turned back to the structure they came down here to look at, yes, forgot about that.

“It’s an eluvian,” Solas stated like it was nothing out of the ordinary.

“Are you kidding? This is really an eluvian like _the_ eluvians?” Dorian interest in the previously determined boring piece had rouse tenfold.

“What's an eluvian?” And there was the sheltered one. Really, for people who go on about preserving their culture, they weren’t sharing the goods with the redhead. 

Well someone was going to be in for a bit of a history lesson, Dorian electing himself to do the job. Before the first sentence was completed, the older elf cleared his throat to draw the attention to him. “Ahem, I think I am more fit to retell this lore instead of your bastardized Tevinter tales.”

“Please, within a sentence you would have persecuted the Dalish at least ten times. We can skip the ‘I hate elves oh bad’ speech for the time being,” came the retort with a roll of his eyes.

Much to Solas’s displeasure, the mage continued giving the rendition of the tale that he was aware of. Back when the elves were in the prime, before fall of Arlathan, there was no roads, only these mirrors. Those mirrors were pathways, a form of travel and communication. This magical mirror that they had stumbled upon was something of great interest to him now, retelling how Tevinter has tried to replicate the technology behind the eluvians without avail. With having one now, being allowed to actively study it. This should change everything!

“Only that it is not active,” Solas concluded with a shake of his head. “None of them are.” Not to mention having people such as the morally questionable and corrupt as the Tevinter Magisterium with that kind of power.

“Only that it is not active...,” Dorian repeated, rubbing his lips together over his teeth deep in thought.

That, from what he understood, was their problem to begin with. After the race fell, the magic that powered these mysterious devices died off with them. So many failed attempts and in the end, most of them were destroyed or just laid dormant in hidden locations. They could not replicate the required magic back then but the time’s had advanced. The magic, the skills, they knew so much more now and not to float his own boat but he was damn well one of the best they had. Distorting time, remember? That was all from magic that he had developed and refined.

“Clearly we have someone here who stands the chance at activating them. Our dear Herald doesn’t glow green without something making it happen and he was lighting up the room when I first got here.”  
“Clearly he is not now.”  
“That part I am trying to figure out now.”

The boundary between the Fade and the real world was thin there, he could feel it and no doubtedly their spirit medium could feel it too. Even without the ability to wield magic, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, prickling with the feeling that they were being watched from the shadows but not in the physical sense, more of the supernatural. And then there was this. With a motioning of his hand, the room lit up in a brilliant turquoise glow, the braziers on the wall dancing with the intense flames. Wherever veilfire was, secrets were held and a room laced full of it would have been concealing something spectacular.

“Ohhhhh.”

Both of the mages stopped the chatter and looked over at the rogue whose head was twisting around, mesmerized and amazed by assumedly the light. Solas looked to Dorian, Dorian shook his head in return and waved his hand a little in a silent jester not to worry about it. The other hand clicked his fingers at the Dalish’s direction, a couple of single syllable call outs to disengage him and bring him back into focus. That did the trick, complete with an apology for getting distracted. Good, otherwise a slap in the face would have snapped him back quick smart and he wasn’t in a shape to take any more of a beating. Besides, he had bigger things to worry about, the anchor started to react again coinciding with the room coming alight. Always something hiding with veilfire.

Next came the question to why it was reacting now and not before, obvious one of the components was identified. Rilien was quick to fill in the gaps now that he knew, stating one of the torch holders was ablaze when he first roughly landed down there and between the time that Dorian left and returned, he grabbed onto it for support when he temporarily lost his footing and knocked it into the puddle. Cross one mystery off the list, next there was something else asking for both mage’s attention.

The pair rarely seen eye to eye, almost never. So for both of them to be in amazement together was a rare thing that they would probably never see again. What was once a vacant space caked with layer upon layer of dust had come to life, shimmering, swirling, hues of blues, pinks, purples and greens. 

Dorian was the most taken in by it, slowly and carefully approaching closer. His dark eyes sparkled, caught in the trance of all the colours drawing him in.“Never in my life would I have expected to see something so...”

“Spectacular? Phenomenal, prodigious, stupendous? Come on Atlus mage, one of those words have to be sinking in,” Rilien smirked taking a stab back at him, smugly moving to raise his balled fist to an air pump of victory only to grunt painfully and put it back down. “I told you it was amazing.”

What was on the other side? Where would it take them? If the other side was inactive, would it activate it? If it was destroyed, would the pathway take them nowhere or would it take them on another route? Was there a way of determining where to go? All of these questions, ones he wanted answers to, ones he could finally have the chance at answering and succeeding where others had failed. What would his father think if he returned home and divulged that he had successfully unlocked the secrets of the eluvians? Would he be impressed? As much as he wish he would be, the sinking feeling was that nothing he could do now would ever make up for the tear between them. Still, proving he could come out of this expedition with something positive! Stopping his countrymen from making a grave mistake, helping to restore some order to the semblance of the land he held dear and stop it from imploding in on itself. Having something to take that step forward and not have this all in unfruitful vain! Surely he could recognize his accomplishments. What he would give to hear that he was proud of him once again.

“Hey, are you okay?” asked the the comforting, supportive voice, bringing him back into focus. “You zoned out there.”

Of course he was fine, what a silly thing to ask. Sometimes people got caught up in their own head that… his hand was only inches away from the mirror. Only thing holding him back was the smaller hand lightly around his wrist, the thumb caressing the underside near his pulse. That unswayed focus displaced to the hand. How soft his thumb was on the pad but rough around the edges near the nail like he chewed on the skin. How well the golden caramel tone of his skin blended against his darker complexion. Much like _his_. His heartbeat hastened, forgetting to take a breathe. What was he doing to him? No. No! He did not like this feeling! Knee-jerk reaction was to snatch his hand back, a taunt chuckle, turning afoot and walking away. 

“We are taking this with us,” he boldly proclaimed, ignoring the question, ignoring everything. “If we are smart enough to activate it, being that it is purely the fire or if the Inquisitor plays some part in it. Whatever the combination, part of it needs to be removed from the equation and that is the eluvian.”

“I don’t trust you,” Solas followed up, making his stance against the Tevinter clearly known. “However I agree. This holds the key to travelling great distances and undetected. Should this fall into Corypheus’s hands, I highly doubt we would be prepared to stop him. We don’t yet know what his final goal is but what we do is that he is after elven artifacts and here is one, right here.”

“Whoa, whoa, no! Stop right there!” Rilien chimed up, standing in between them, head darting back and forth between the two while he spoke. “This thing is a doorway that neither of you don’t know where it goes to and how it operates. Also, doorway, things can come backwards through it. This is crazy. Stupid. Where you want to store it? Skyhold? You want to put people’s lives at risk? Dorian, Solas, please, listen to what you are saying.”

Hope the bald headed bastard didn’t let this go to his head but for now, they continued with that agreement, ignoring the pleads of the Herald and continued to talk amongst themselves about how they were going to transport it out. His thoughts were abuzz with excitement. They could really do this and while he meant him, it was clear of the elf’s intent not to leave him alone with it so any research would be done together. Hmm, that means what was he doing to do to stop Solas from sabotaging it. What would he do and how far would he go to stop him from discovering the enigma? 

“What locations close to Skyhold would be good to use?”  
“If not in the grounds then neighbouring areas would have to be sufficient otherwise they leave it vulnerable.”  
“Why not down in the dungeons? No one dares to step a foot down there and it is not like anyone is acquiring the accommodation.”  
“Very true. Every time the Inquisitor sentences someone, he either makes them an agent for the Inquisition or banishes them. Although I was quite a fan of the flat shoes remark.”  
“Everyone except your mentor. Lost his head did he not?”  
“Let's not scratch at old wounds and get back to the task at hand now shall we? If it’s stored in the dungeons, the bonus is that if someone comes through the mirror, they would at least be straight into a cell.”

“You are going to do it anyway, aren’t you? Why do I even bother?” Rilien dejectedly wheezed, toeing the stones with his boot. Clearly he was fighting back the frustrated throwing up of hands in defeat but the last time he moved, he remembered the response. “Fine! You both will be held responsible if anything happens and I mean _anything_. But I have one request, that you do not share this discovery with anyone _especially_ The Iron Bull.”

It did not need explaining to why that was to either of them, nods and agreeing grunts telling they would abide by those terms. This is it, they finally found something that could give them the upperhand in this fight! Surely this was a huge win for the Inquisition. This called for a night of celebration!

\--------------------------

“Varric, this is a whore house.”

Good food, great drink, even better company for a night of fun and relaxation. That was what he was promised. The way that he had interpreted that to be was a somewhat quiet night with a warm meal in their bellies, the others satisfying their quench for the good old brew. Civilized conversations where applicable and just generally enjoying the company throughout the night. That sounded like fun. Instead, here he was, face -to-face with a lineup on women. Eight of them to be precise, barely wearing anything except for the sheer overlay over the bra and panties. Without that, it would have been full frontal nudity! A spread of races, varying in size and shape, ranging from the the goddess of beauty down to the plainest of Janes and all of them were doing their best to broker his attention.

“This is a nice gesture, it’s just that I don’t…” pleaded the elf.

“Hmm. I had my thoughts but I wanted to make sure,” the dwarf mused, already eyeing off the pick for himself for the night. 

Leaning over to the Madame behind him that was silently giving prompts from behind to the girls, he spoke to her in a hushed voice, too low for Rilien to hear. A nod and a dismissive flick of the hand, the row of females paraded out single file, one of them giving a playful finger wave on the way out. Phew, good that was over. Or so he thought. Eight women had been replaced by eight men, some of them with shorts on, others with longer pants, all of them chests exposed showing off their physique for the potential purchaser of the night.

Cheeks flushed as bright as his hair, eyes quickly adverted to the ground. The dwarf heartily chortled, knowing that he hit the nail right on the head. You can just tell these things, you can tell them.

“Please Varric, you don’t need to… is he winking at me!?” D-Don’t hold it against him that he snuck a little peek, looks like that guy noticed too. If there is a hole somewhere in the vicinity, please let him crawl into it and die. No, be strong. “I don’t like any of them. So that is that, maybe the next time.”

“Oh you are one of those,” the Madame hummed, supposedly figuring out the bashful Dalish. “We have special ones for people like you. Come, come I will show you the premium stock.”

N-No, why is Varric not coming with him!? This was the most embarrassing thing in his life that he had ever been subjected to and Rilien was not at all ashamed of a naked body. After all, being Dalish you don’t have a single room for you to hide and bathe like these fancy human places have. No walls on their bathhouses with, it was the closest river with you and a handful of others, both sexes, where you would unwind for the day, have some fun and gossip while getting clean.

Premium stock was stretching it. After being led into a cramped, smoke filled room that stung the eyes, he was offered one of three men, ladies, … something? Pretty such that one was a man dressed up as a female. Features were masculine but it had the world's worst flamboyant, obnoxious makeup splattered all over their face, like someone took a handful of pigmented dust and threw it at their face.

“Look love, I haven’t got all day,” the Madame grunted, a complete demeanor change from what was displayed out in the public view. Long fingers snatches one of the cigarettes out of the fingers of one of her employees, taking a deep drag and exhaling it directly into his face. “Your room is all paid for so just pick one and go. Fuck them, don’t fuck them, I don’t care. I got better shit to do than this.”

It took a lot of tongue biting to not retort of what a bitch she was, remaining focused on just getting out of there was priority. Blindly he pointed to one of them, the male elf stood up and silently followed until they got out of the compact room, then took the lead up to their accommodation for the next hour or so. 

This was not what he expected at all. Jumping the gun, he had drawn the conclusion that he would be in a tiny room with a single bed which would barely have enough room to move on, probably stained with various bodily juices from however many people had done the deed on it. What a surprise it was to see the room spacious and clean. What was more surprising was that there appeared to be a theme to the room. The grand bed made with the dark grain of the cherry tree, quilted with duck down for softness and matching deep pine green curtains for privacy. To the right, a matching cabinet made of the same cherry wood with an assortment of oils and ointments lined up and a large ceramic bowl and cloth in the same earthy tones. What impressed him the most was the mural on the walls, vines and tree roots draping down. Everything was designed purposely to give the feel of the forest. It made him a little homesick.

“It’s a pleasure to be picked by someone as handsome as yourself,” stated the other in the room. He approached Rilien from behind, his slender body flush against him, one arm around his waist tugging his shirt out from his pants. “For tonight, I am here for whatever you want. Don’t be afraid to ask.”

His body froze, exploring fingers skillfully bypassed his belt and the buttons of his pants, giving more room to snake his hand down over his briefs. “Is this your first time? You’re shaking. Don’t worry, we can take it as slow as you are comfortable with.”

Sex, how much he hated it. Everyone’s suspicions were correct, he was indeed a virgin. Why there was this twisted fascination to get it, he would not understand. You can’t say you don’t like it if you have never tried it, is what others would tell him when he questioned it. Did anyone think that maybe he did not want to do it?

“I am not comfortable with this,” he sighed, turning his head away to look down at the floor, to avoid seeing the hand down his pants. “It’s not you, trust me it’s not. Not even someone…” The elf paused and shook his head. It sounded so stupid inside of his head but trying to say it aloud, made him seem like he was crazy. “Even someone who I would want them to do it, … I just can’t.” He was so ashamed of himself. He was defective, broken. Dorian had every right to be angry at him, after all, he lead him on thinking that there was going to be some sort of sexual resolve.

“You want to talk?” the other asked soothingly. Something that he really wasn’t expecting considering how hot and heavy he was starting and how bitchy the Madame was, to have someone so understanding, he was taken back. But realistically, best to do what the customer wants. “Not everyone comes up here to have physical pleasure. People need company, they want to talk, some want to embrace the entire time. There is nothing to be ashamed about.”

He left him alone with that decision and sat down on the bed waiting for it to be made. There was no harm in talking and after the run he had, it would be nice to talk to someone of his own race that wasn’t hating on it. 

“I am Dalish, is that okay?” he asked testing the waters.  
“And I was born a female. We all have our quirks.”  
So being Dalish is okay then? Good, then that means he could at least have a short… wait, what? “...Well, I wasn’t expecting that.”

Spinning back around, his head cocked to the side, examining the elven man with great curiosity. So he used to be a female? How did he become a male? Why had never heard of something like this before? Due the the androgynous features of elves, it was hard to tell gender a lot of the times which is why humans were appealed to both. From his spiky stylish brunette hair, the slightly toned but not extravagant abs, there was no way he could have known unless he was told. In fact, if he saw him walking down the path, he would have personally looked back for a second look and a hum of admiration.

It would have been wise to take at least a minute to stop, internally process all of the swimming thoughts that suddenly bombarded him and then filter out the correct ones and then respond. Nope, just blurt them all out at once and hope one of them works.

“That wasn’t what I meant. I did not mean to offend you. Did I offend you? Gee really, I mean I had no idea and not that is a bad thing. Wait, nothing about this is a bad thing except that I am in a brothel and I don’t want to be. Is that why you were classed as “premium”? Besides that woman… maybe woman with the very bad face paint, I assumed you were just very handsome and that was why. I mean you are, very handsome that is, ridiculously handsome…”

Thankfully someone was nice enough to put him out of his misery, a cough to clear his throat and to draw the attention away from rambling. “You should breathe,” he suggested to start with. “And to answer them all, no I am not offended. Yes, we are a niche market hence the closet they have us working in and thank you, I know I am handsome. Since you are such a chatty mood now, care to continue it?”

And continued it he did. This was the opportunity that Rilien had been waiting for, asking the other elf all that he could. His name was Mikel, he was from a city called Seheron and was sold into Tevinter slavery at a young age. What he was expecting next was tales of doom and gloom, the mistreatment of elves as slaves and yet, he was given something completely different. He lived a good life, well taken care of, probably would have died if he was not taken in with both of his parent dead. Maybe he had been pushing Dorian too hard on the emotional response about slaves when he should have been more open to listen to the other side. What made life hard for Mikel was that some resistance fighters that called themselves the Fog Warriors, ambushed the family he worked for while they were travelling to Alam and slaughtered them. Sounds like they too had the wrong impression about slaves because what they thought they were doing was liberating him, turned out to make his life a living hell, so much that after a couple of attempts he freed himself and ran. From there it was moving from one city to the next, doing whatever he could to get by and this is where he ended up. Oh and those marks down his left arm, not a vallaslin but something he chose of his own free will to place there. Whoa, life in the forests were really dull when you put things like this into perspective.

“Your life, while it’s not always been positive, has been filled with so much experience. If you had the chance to live your life away from this, what would you do?” Rilien asked with as much excitement as he could muster.

“I’d be a pirate. Sails the seas, go to distant lands. Surely there is places outside of Thedas. The amount of islands in the Boeric Ocean could keep anyone busy for years to explore. That way I could just… disappear.” Getting up from his position on the bed, Mikel sauntered towards the young elf, hooking his finger around the redone up pants and giving them a tug. “Take your clothes off and lay down on the bed, face first.” He looked up into those lilac eyes, coquettishly biting on the bottom corner of his lip. “I want to give you something that will make you feel amazing.”

Instantly a protest was raised and then he tried to back away only to get nowhere, already pinned against the wall as he was using it to prop himself up. All of this standing was taking a lot of him. So was all of the listening. It could also be the constant pain through his upper body from the sustained injuries. Look, if he needed to make a bolt out of that room, he would damn well find a way to do it.

“I mean for a massage,” Mikel rolled his eyes, letting go of his pants and taking a step back. “Look, over there,” he pointed to the bench next to him. “Essential oils, exactly for that reason. I swear on Sylaise that I will not touch you inappropriately.”

It took a few moments to agree but finally he did, stepping out of the corner and to the bed as instructed. First came the pants, unbuttoned and pushed down over his hips, getting them down to his ankles with the shimmying of his waist. His shirt proved to be something a bit more troublesome, the sharp stab of agony tearing through his chest and arm as he tried to get undo past the bottom couple of buttons. Thankfully someone was more than helpful and offered their services, leaving the last article of clothes to be removed by them.

“Damn, did someone kick you when you were down? That looks broken,” Mikel wrinkled his nose up at the ghastly bruise covering almost half of his chest. “How are you even standing right now?”

“I’m pretty sure that it is and I have no idea. I think I’m functioning on sheer willpower and trust me, it’s running thin,” the redhead chuckles trying to see light of the situation but it just hurt more when he did that.

“Don’t you worry, by the time I am finished with you, you will feel no pain at all. Trust me, I have magical fingers.” 

Free of his clothes, Rilien could not help but notice that the other man was giving him the eye over and he was not being discreet about it. It was flattering. Just because the drive for sexual contact was not there, it did not mean that he did not want to feel desirable. Something that Dorian did well, so much to the fact that he thought he could trick himself into going all the way. That certainly did not work. Nor did trying to get down on the bed gracefully, fingers twisting the top blanket, breathing quickening, taking all of his energy not to cry out. A simple manipulation of muscles and pressure points was not going to fix this issue but what the hell, it couldn’t get any worse.

A selection of oils and creams were selected from the cabinet, returning to his side and meticulously placing them in order on the bedside table. The first bottle was uncapped, a bit of lotion applied, the next a couple of drops placed onto his palm, rubbing them together to combine and warm. Muscles all through his body contracted from the placement of his hands, some being nerves, most of it from the pain caused by the slightest touch. What made it even harder was the reposition of the man from his side to up onto the bed, straddling and sitting back onto his thighs. There was a thin layer of fabric between some very sensitive places and right now, he was every so thankful for that.

“So is there a someone in your life that you want to be intimate with?” Mikel asked, starting up some small talk to break the awkward silence.

“Was someone. It’s complicated.”

The brunette laughed. “Of course it is. It always is. Let me guess, your Keeper doesn’t approve of relationship between two men. I’m assuming it's another male since you did pick me after all.” Look at that stubborn knot there, just give that a bit of a harder push and, there you go. Bet that feels a lot better, once the immediate sting goes that is. “Oh, are they qunari? I’ve heard those guys are wild in bed. Too bad none of them come by here.”

A loud stiff yelp would have clearly been heard from outside of the doors. Anyone walking by would have thought nothing of it. Come to think of it, someone could get murdered in there and anyone walking by would have just passed it off as some sort of kinky act. He was right though, a spreading feeling of calmness engulfed his torso, the spasms ebbing to stillness. Crossing his arms and using them as a pillow, Rilien took the chance to close his eyes, focusing on the aroma of the oils. Musky, a little woody undertones. Home.

“He is human and from Tevinter so I don’t even want to know the Keeper would say knowing all three of those facts.” Come to think of it, if they were together, what would happen after all of this? He couldn’t just rock up back at his clan with a mage on his arm and expect a cheery welcome. No one as pampered as him would ever stoop to sleeping on bed rolls for the long term. Constant complaining about bugs, having to find your own food, weather, ambushes… well he probably had those. They were so wrapped up with the now that no one even considered what would happen moving forward, if they survived. Lets face it, the chance of that was slim to none. “From what I can tell the qunari are that good because he is with one while he was trying to… I don’t even know what really went on between us. I know I’m to blame. Every time anything gets sexual between us, I push him away and he gets he gets angry and frustrated. It wasn’t fair on him.”

“So he has no idea about it then. I don’t blame him.” There looks to be a particularly troublesome spot right there. He could have gave the recipient to brace himself but what fun is that? There is something amusing about the way bone cracks, the feeling of something that one would assume to be dense was actually quite pliable. Skilled fingers could feel the slip, the cracked bone dropping into place. Ah, he was still young. Once they get older, they get more brittle and that doesn’t work out so well. Got to take risks sometimes.

After all the screaming and swearing had settled down, the conversation could continue. “Tell him. Whatever is going on between him and this qunari is not what he is after. He may think it is but people who are satisfied, do not wander like that.”

It gave him a lot of think about. What exactly was going on between him and Bull? Perhaps it was time to confront him on it, get the story from Dorian’s perspective, answer some questions even if it did not yield a positive response. Not knowing why, drawing his own conclusions, placing all of the blame on himself and holding onto that ideal was not helping anything to heal.

Someone else was very impressive on the side of healing as well, the weight shifting off his legs with the confirmation that they were done, leaving the only pain in his body from the numbing tingle of pins and needles where he has been sitting. Rolling onto his side, no pain. Sitting up, no pain. Breathing, no pain! Magical fingers that’s for sure. Magical… fingers… 

“You’re a mage!?” Rilien gasped, the revelation hitting him like a tonne of bricks.

“Shh,” came the reply, pressing his index finger to centre of his lips. “Mages end up in a Circle. I’m just a simple prostitute. You will need to seek out a healer. I’ve took the edge off but it’s going to take a lot more work to put you back together.”

While Mikel cleaned up after himself, Rilien took the chance to start getting dressed. Halfway getting his pants up, an envelope popped out of his pocket and landed on the ground. His head cocked at it, trying to recollect here he got it from. Oh that was right, a messenger dropped it to him a few nights ago. Oops, hopefully it was nothing urgent. Partly dressed he sat back down, breaking the seal and scanning over the contents. A request from a man called Ponchard de Lieux to meet in Val Royeaux to discuss something that may be of personal interest to him. Hmm, that was very vague. Requests of this nature were not at all uncommon since becoming the leader of the Inquisition. Many people wanted his time from the most remedial of tasks to the ones of actual important. Once he got a request to name a newborn babe because he was blessed by Andraste so naturally, he would have some spiritual powers to pass onto this child according to its religious parents. Normally he would have tossed this paper into the fire but it was vetted by the Spymaster herself before placed into the hands of a messenger. Hmm, they had to pass through Orlais to get back to Skyhold so no harm in checking it out on their return.

“The room is paid up for the night so you will be able to rest easy.”

“Hmm?” It caught him off guard, stuffing the letter back into his pocket. “Oh, thank you. Good luck on becoming a pirate,” he smiled in appreciation for everything he had done. The medical attention, the talk, it really helped to lift his spirits and put things into better perspective.

Mikel shook his head and moved to leave, opening the door and almost stepping straight into the very ravishing bronzed man with a sublime dress sense, blocking his exit. Eyes lit up in shock, taking a step back waiting for his next move with a bated breath. For a few moments he waited, nothing had progressed, taking that as a good sign with a soft sigh. Well hello there cutie. If he wanted to be his next client they he will certainly not pass this one up. A hand went up to make his move, only noticing that his attention was nowhere near him and it was over his shoulder at the half dressed elf bent over.

“Mmm sweetie, let me tell you, this one is good,” he purred, licking the corner of his lips. “But he is not for sale. But if you want to come with me…” Hand up against his well sculpted chest, giving him a firm push back. “I will gladly make it worth your while.”

When the offer was rejected, he shrugged it off. His loss. Back to the closet in waiting for the next one.

Hearing the low level chatter and the door closing, Rilien finally looked up, belt done up now, shirt back on and doing up the buttons, looking somewhat decent. He was surprised to see Dorian standing there but thought nothing really of it, even striking up a conversation with him while he looked around the room for where his boots were. Boots were about to be the last thing on his mind, grabbed by the scruff to the shirt and thrown up against the door.

Rilien hit the door with a stiff grunt, hands tightly gripping on top of the older man’s with increasing pressure trying to pry him off. “Deja vu anyone?” he snarled, eyes narrowing in escalating anger.

“That’s rich coming from someone who thinks that lashing out against people of recent is cathartic,” Dorian scoffed with a sarcastic motion of his head.

Whatever it is, something had set him off but this time he was not going to take it. Shifting his hands around slightly, he focused on the pressure points in his joints, pushing and tightening continually until it reached its limit and he let go. Ducking down to a crouch and a side step, the elf got out of his reach, holding his hands up as a sign that he was not going to retaliate against him.

“Dorian, you are drunk.”

Pointing it out wasn’t going to make the difference, surely he knew that he was intoxicated, after all, he was the one consuming the drink. It was only an acknowledgment that the stench of hard liquor could be easily detected and that he was not of his right mind. The mage never drunk the hard stuff and he never got himself worked up into this state.

“And here I thought you were able to maintain equanimity in the face of all of that shit. Look at you, you are losing it,” continued the ramble, the slur of words far more apparent.

Smashing of glass caused him to jump, turning his back for only one moment and that was all it took for him to bump into furniture and knock over some of the trinkets onto the floor. Glass lost the battle against the wood floor, shattering and spreading thin invisible shards. Cursing under his breath, Rilien looked around for something to soak up the pools of products lost to the porous surface, taking a couple of towels and dumping it on top with a pat of his hand to start the process. Without shoes on, the chances of getting something in his feet was high.

“Sleep it off,” he part pleaded, part demanded, pointing to the bed.

“You won’t sleep with me but you will fuck a whore!”

Wow, that was a slap across the face. Even if he had, he would be one to talk. Like he couldn’t see it. The dishevelled hair, the change in his complexion from where the sweat turned to a thin layer of oil. Those detective skills aside, there was the unmistakable faint marks of a forming bruise where someone obviously had their mouth. Be it Bull, be it a paid lover or be it part of some sort of fucked up threesome he had, he had no right to make any accusations like that.

“And when were you going to tell me about you and The Iron Bull?” Rilien asked deadpan. He glanced up to the face of absolute bewilderment, confirming that he had no inkling of a clue that he knew about them. And that face said it all. “Exactly. You are even thinking ‘how could that dimwitted bastard give it away? Obviously he doesn’t know the meaning of word, discretion’”

Finally the cogs were moving, the retaliation attempt was thwarted hastily by Rilien coming to his feet, arms crossed on the defensive, no longer taking shit. He had been carrying this burden, it was eating away at him all of the sake of keeping good graces, providing unity. There would be no unity if their leader continued to fall apart like this. “No, you wanted to get yourself into this, then we are going to talk about it. Kadan, ever heard this word before? From what I have worked out, it is a sort of term of endearment that qunari use. Has he ever said this to you? Because whenever he references you while talking to me, he uses it all the time.”

A flash of familiarity surfaced with the word. That was all he needed. Whatever they had would one hundred percent stay dead and buried. Bull deserved better than all of this. Again, he reiterated to take the bed and sleep it off, considering the conversation as over. He could get someone up there after to clean up the rest of the room before someone gets hurt.

With the situation defused, it was safe to head to the door. Or so he thought, a hand planting to one side of his head, Dorian once again not letting him leave. No aggression this time so no reason to exacerbate and retaliate, sighing and pivoting on his foot to face him once again. “Please Dorian, sleep it off.”

Warmth of his hand cupped his cheek, fingers delicately caressing the fading bruises. “But I don’t want him. I want you,” the older man murmured, his lips moving in closer looking for a kiss.

No, he couldn’t do this anymore. This perpetuating circle, it had to stop. His head rolled to the side, ignoring the advances. “No you don't. You don't know what you want... or maybe you do and you're scared.”

Back his head turned, staring up at Dorian, bright eyed in a moment of clarity. The gap between them suddenly grew, free to move around with a step back taken from the Tevinter, cementing his theory. “That's it isn't it! The hurt, the suffering you feel because of your father, you are holding onto that, making sure it keeps you back... because you are afraid! You are afraid to let anyone close so you run away as soon as you can, you will sabotage it to save yourself from getting attached.”

Tensions flared up again, the mage storming back and forth. Head down, trying to process, repeating the mantra of “no” under his breath until something snapped. “No, that’s not it! You have no idea what it's like!” he barked, wildly pointing his finger at his chest. Some of the points missed, some of them connected, all wanted to prove that everything that was being said was a lie.

“You are scared that someone actually gives a shit about you, other than yourself!”

Echos of skin against skin contact brought all talk to silence, Rilien’s head snapping to the side, his cheek heating from the impact of the hand that came down against his cheek. 

Dorian was seething, every self-restraint being made when his fists balled up, not to lash out again. “Don’t... you... _dare_ presume you know me or anything that I have been through! You have no fucking idea who I am! Podex perfectus es! Futue te ipsum! Arde in regnum phasmatis!”

Not even the chance to get out of the way, grabbed by the shoulder and pulled away from the door, left by himself after the slamming of the door, the force knocking over more loose glass. 

His heart pounded, his body quivered. What had he done? Never had Dorian been that angry with him that he lashed out. 

Crouching down, he started to pick up the fallen items, all of them still in tact unlike the last lot. Once he finished up with them he kneels down with a cloth and continued to collect the last pieces of glass, sweeping it up into a little pile. A trickle of warmth ran down his face, then another, stopping his cleaning to wipe it from his cheek with the back of his hand.

“I give a shit about you.”


	9. Chapter 9

Dark dirt crumbling underneath palms, small sharp pebbles piercing the skin with balled fists, clambering, struggling to move. A fallen trunk is just in eyesight, albeit the haze of stinging sweat not giving much range. Dragging, inching ever so close. Fingers reaching, nails catching on bark. Almost there, just need to… and then darkness.

Narrowing trunks paving the way to the light overhanging greenery, contrasting with the hues of pink, yellow and blue of the setting sun peaking through the gaps. Wetness against skin. Was it a tear or simply the rain? The colours, once distinct now blurring into one. Stinging gold, pulsating purple… and then darkness.

Suppressed screams, uncontrollable agony. Building pressure finally relieved, warmth flowing, spreading. Every gasp burns. A simple movement, a turn of a head, the raise of an arm, all met with the burden of lethargy. Conflicting thoughts are not enough to overpower the overwhelming desire to give into the darkness. Just for one moment, a fleeting second is all would be needed...

_Da'len, come on, focus on me. Keep your eyes open. Da'len stay with me._

A couple of weeks earlier…

“This!” His abrupt entrance startled all parties in the room. All eyes set upon him as he stormed in with conviction, slamming down the parchment onto the grand wooden table, clearly upset by it. “Does anybody care to explain this!?”

The room fell silent, the four parties originally occupying the room giving each other confused glances, raised eyebrows and shoulder shrugs to each other explaining their initial uncertainty for what was going on. Being the diplomat of the group, Josephine, was the first one to break, taking the thin animal skin and scanning over the scribed text.

“I do not know anything about this,” she mumbled aloud, then looking over at the other two advisors, speaking up with more conviction towards them. “Perhaps you have an idea?”

Paperwork was passed down the line to Cullen and Leliana, the pair huddled and read. The look of acknowledgment between them explained it all, that look turned to guilt on one of the parties as he turned to the fourth person in the room. “Cassandra, could you please give us some time alone with the Inquisitor.”

It was probably in her best interests to leave, the Seeker sensing that a shitstorm was about to be unleashed but she did not get more than a couple of steps away from the table before she was stopped.

“Cassandra, you should stay. The Inquisition should be transparent, we should not be keep secrets or sharing half truths with each other, right?” Rilien’s focus was directly straight at the two who seemed to know exactly what was going on. “Let's get it all out on the table now.”

Which one of the two would be first to explain, the Spymaster stepping up first for that, a couple of words to start before Cullen stopped her. He leant over and whispered in her ear, pulling back with a reassuring nod. “Everything stated is true and I am the one to be held accountable.”

Everyone in the room with the exception of the two staring at each other took a step back expecting the Herald to explode in a fit of rage after the way he came into this. Cassandra pivoting on the ball of her foot, towards the elf, ready and light in case she needs to make the jump to hold him back. Dear Maker, let this all end well without someone’s blood being spilled or at least a trip to the infirmary.

“Why didn’t you come to me?” No rage, not even the slightest of yelling. Everyone coming back from high alert with a thankful exhale. “That I don’t understand the most. Why keep me in the dark about this the entire time?”

“It was because of the stress you were under. There were so many times I wanted to tell you, ask for some sort of guidance because Maker knows I made a right mess of everything. I am your advisor and I should have been able to sort this out, otherwise, what good am I to you?”

“A right mess of things?” he clarified with a snort and a sarcastic roll of his eyes. “That is a bit of an understatement. For starters, let’s talk about how you sent Inquisition soldiers to my clan, _my_ clan, and placed them into a position where they felt threatened and both parties suffered casualties. All to deliver a message that I was alive. That is the worst case of diplomacy I have ever seen.”

Cullen knew he deserved that one and took the hit on the chin, tilting his head agreeing with him. Obviously not his forte. “Shortly after this happened, they were approached by many humans who were not content that their Herald was of Dalish nature and your clan felt it was necessary to relocate and put themselves into hiding for protection of the others.”

That cleared up a lot of questions he had been asking himself. Why had his clan not tried to contact him, why nothing he wrote reached them. They had word that he was alive and to hide the shame of the fumbled operation, they kept it quiet. They had moved on and were trying to distance themselves for safety so they would not try to contact him in return. Could not blame them at all for that. Priority was for the preservation of the clan and the Keeper.

“And now? You continue to monitor them, correct?”

“We have some spies watching over them, trying to head off any problems before they arrived,” he explained, taking leave from the table to go to the corner of the room. “And don’t think we are spying on them for any nefarious reason, it’s for their safety, I assure you.” After sorting through a set of drawers, Cullen returned to the table with a large roll of paper, uncurling it and placing four weighted bronze pieces on the corners to hold it in place. 

“They are situated out near Wycome, over here,” he pointed on the map, circling the area with his finger around. “Hunters spread out for food gathering to here, here and here. Masters are posted around here.” 

He continued to mark out the invisible lines on the map for him, on the habits and movement patterns of Clan Lavellan, giving him a better idea of what was going on there. Under normal circumstances there would be no need to share information like this and being a hunter from the clan himself, unless they had changed things up, which was quite possible, he should know it himself. But the blonde knew what was coming up next. “The threats are real. After the last attempt, I took a step back and allowed them to try and resolve it themselves.”

Producing a key from around his neck tied to a piece of cord, the Commander moved to a locked drawer and went through the contents, taking out a parchment and placing it down for Rilien to read. The letter he had received was very brief, a plea for assistance from his brother to help the clan. Humans were threatening them, blaming them for something. All details were vague as expected because his brother was not with the clan and had not been for many moon cycles. Keeper Istimaethoriel would have contacted him in a desperate attempt to get through. This letter now in front of him spelt it all out.

“They are calling it the ‘Knife-Eared Plague’, for obvious reasons that they believe it originated from the elves,” Leliana stepped up, taking control for this part. “Duke Antoine of Wycome had been concealing the sickness from the nobles, something that they claim only affects humans. First they blamed the elves in the alienages but that quickly turned to clan Lavellan and their arrival, the sickness spreading shortly after they had entered the forests.” Pausing briefly, she considered if she should continue, wondering if any further details would be pertinent. She decided with yes. “The nobles, the entire town are scared, irrational. You can’t blame them for reacting they way they have.”

He would not get emotional, he would not do it. How dare she insinuate that those humans were of their justified mind all because they were afraid of something that did not exist, that elves were the root cause of this and lashing out against them was validated. Snatching his letter up from the table, Rilien folded his arms, hiding the balled fist that continued to tighten around the hide.

“I need to go to them. I am asking for permission to leave tonight, on my own.”

An uproar spread through the room from the three women, all of them talking amongst themselves, then directed at the Inquisitor and then directed at Cullen. All of it revolving how he could not leave them. What about the breach? The rifts don’t close themselves. One of them trying to say in a muted direction that they let him leave, he may never return. He was in the room, he could hear everything that was being said and yet they continued to talk as if he was not there. 

“This could be a plan of Corypheus,” Leliana spoke up, trying to justify the situation. He was emotional, she got that. Using loved ones was the easiest way to get to someone. The Inquisitor was not thinking clearly. “He could be using that fear, controlling the town’s people, waiting for you to come in flustered and unguarded and then he will strike. Your importance to the Inquisition, to Thedas. I am sorry to say, more important than a Dalish clan.” 

“I’ve been accused of murder, confined a prisoner, forced into submission against my will, denied contact with my people to let them know that I am even alive,” Rilien started, staring down at the table. His hands shook, his voice cracking. Calm before the storm. “Day in and day out, I follow your lead blindly, all to help this Inquisition that I had no say upon joining. Without question, I do it. Time and time again, you all come to me, wanting me to help you out, follow up on something on the personal level… and I do it. Your slave, at your beckon call, branded to you by this damn mark on my hand!”

Cole was right. Ha! Dammit he was right! When you stop and take a step back from it all, it was exactly what he was saying. Here he was thinking that he was in a group that respected him, trusted him, treated him as an equal… how could he have been so stupid?

“One thing I have asked of you, asked, not demanded but asked, just one _fucking_ thing…” And the shit was about to rain down on them. “They may be a Dalish clan but they are _my_ Dalish clan and they are worth more than me and especially any of you! I am leaving and if you do not like that, then the only way you are going to stop me is to kill me...” His steely stare turned directly to Cassandra as she was the one that made a preemptive move previously, his hand diagonally reaching across to his shoulder to his sheathed dagger. When she did not even blink, his attention turned to his three advisors, giving them the same hardened look. “...And I will not go down that easily.”

No one moved, not even a flinch. He could have guessed that at least one of them was armed with the amount of danger they were under. He couldn’t chance leaving and being attacked from behind. Even now with this stunt he has pulled he would have quashed all trust he would have obtained through hard work and proving himself back to nothing. Back to when he was shackled, pushed around and threatened to be killed if he tried to run. Shit, this was going to come back and bite him in the ass but right now, he was not thinking straight at all. Firmly fixated on getting back to his clan, nothing else mattered.

“I will arrange a steed for you right now.” One of them was willing to break the tension, Cullen taking the map from the tabletop and rolling it up, holding it out for Rilien to take. “Please, go and prepare your things. Time is wasting.”

There was a moment of contemplation. Should he take it or was he going to get jumped the moment he took his hand away? He looked directly into the blonde’s eyes, studying for any malicious intent or if he would allow anything to happen to him. The urge to trust him was too great, dropping his hand away from his weapon and taking up the map instead.

“Thank you,” he whispered under his breath before taking leave.

Rilien had almost everything prepared, just returning from the pantry with additional food supplies to last him for the journey. He just needed enough to get there and really he was guestimating how long that would take. Backtracking through Orlais, cutting through the base of Nevarra and then onto the Free Marches would take too long and this was time sensitive. From what he could see, Wycome was right at the edge of the Free Marches and the quickest way was going to be continue moving through Ferelden and hope there was a port bearing town somewhere where he could obtain passage on a ship and pass over into the Free Marches. Get on a ship? That was going to be interesting. Most of his voyage was going to be down to improvisation and hopefully some Inquisition contacts if they had any up there.

The drawstring on the knapsack was pulled tightly, the bag swung over his shoulder with all of his provisions, ready to leave when there was a knock at the door. Instead of inviting the other party in the room, the elf opened the door up to save time and keep the forward momentum going. He was not at all surprised when it was Cullen there to greet him, giving him the approval for him to walk and talk with him on the way out.

“I take it you have my horse ready?” the Herald assumed, still with a huff of resentment in his voice.

An approving hum signified everything was ready but that was not all of it. Hopefully his local knowledge would give the Inquisitor some clarity on the best route of travel. If he chose to take it was another thing.

“Head to Denerim, you will be able to catch a ship from there across to the Free Marches. If possible, try and seek out a woman called Isabela.” As well as some information gathered by the Inquisition should be particularly useful as well. “We have heard that she is in the area so she may have access to a ship or at least know someone who can give you a helping hand. It will shave a good amount of time off the journey taking it this way. Just watch out for her... charms. She likes to flirt… a lot. I don’t know this personally but there was some stories brought up about her and three other people in bed together...”

One could only ramble on so much especially where there was a question that he was afraid to ask and yet needed to know. An awkward pause followed, the only sound breaking the silence was the crunching of stones under their feet as they made their way through the courtyard. “You will return to us, won’t you?” asked Cullen softly, looking for the answer to the burning question that had been asked by them all after he had left the room.

Ouch. Did they really think that he was abandoning them? Just up and disappear, never to be seen again? Even if he had wanted to do that, return to his clan, live a normal life again, it was never going to happen. People knew who he was and worse yet, Corypheus did. So he may be able to find these elven artifacts he was after, he could manage to construct his master plan and he could bring Thedas to it’s knees. In the end, he was a threat that could stop him and while that threat was around, it would always linger over him. Elimination was the only way possible. Whoever he was with, it would make them a risk. No one else should suffer because of this blessing or this curse attached to him. Not only that, the bigger the breach got, the closer to death he was and eventually, it would kill him. There was no win in any situation.

“It hurts that you even have to ask that question Commander, after everything that we have been through.” Besides, he truly cared about what happens to everyone.

“Rilien… can I call you that?”

“It is my name Cullen.” Everyone took it upon themselves to call him the alternatives, it was not him that demanded this. “You can call me by my name.”

“Thank you. I don’t think there is enough words to express how much I am sorry. You put your faith in me, you follow my lead in anything I say without question. Even when you found out about my issues with lyrium, you still believed in me. Rilien, I consider you a friend and I am deeply remorseful on how much I have hurt you. I hope that you may forgive me.”

So much pain, so much regret. Rilien really did feel for his Commander deep down inside and later on, if this ended not at all bitterly, he would more than likely visit him in private and forgive him for the mistake and reassure him that he knew he only had this best interests in mind. “I can’t do that. In time, I may be able to do that but not right now. I hope it is something you can understand.”

“That is all I can ask for. And I will make it up to you, I promise.” 

He stopped in front of a black and brown mare, giving her a stiff pat letting him know that this was the one he had procured. Saddlebags were strapped to the back of her filled with more requirements for the travel, some for the horse, some funds for any unexpected hiccups. Once Rilien was up in the saddle, he took a step back and gave him a bow of his head.

“Safe travels, friend.”

Ahh home. Not exactly his home personally but the area he was accustomed to. The luscious greenery, the scent of musty wood in the air. Even down to the sounds of the water babbling from the brook in front of them that he had brought his mare to drink at made his close his eyes briefly and a deep breath in, immersing himself. That probably was the worst idea he could have had, filling his lungs with moisture from the wall of humidity he had come into. Never had he thought it would be humanly or elvenly possible to form sweat on top of sweat but Rilien was convinced it was there. How could one’s butt crack generate that much perspiration, he would never know. Come some time ago, this would not have been much of an issue but after most of his time of recent being in the chill of the Frostback Mountains, his body needed to re-adjust. Something he was not going to have time to do as with that much moisture in the air, it meant a storm would be coming soon and with an unknown area, that could cause trouble.

That was not the only part that was causing trouble, the density of the forest they were in was becoming harder to navigate while on horseback. Not long after coming off the path and entering into the forestry he had to dismount, guiding the horse by the reins over the terrain and it was getting harsher. Given the circumstances and the reason for the relocation, staying away from any kind of trail, even the beaten path, would be their objective to eliminate foot traffic or hoof traffic in this case.

A couple of splashes of cool water against his face freshened him up, ready to continue on but this time without the aid of his horse. If he knew he would come up against these surroundings then he would have left her via the roadside for a passerbyer to take her. Surely she would find her way back. It wasn’t cruel.

Horses were not like the halla, they did not have the same aura. Nor did they listen to instructions very well, the mare casually following. The best stock the Inquisition had for travel, the worst at listening to “stay here”, stalked by the beast that was refusing to leave his side no matter how hard the terrain was getting. If Cullen’s map was accurate, he would be drawing in close to the camp soon and having the larger body of a horse was going to make him stand out like a sore thumb. He tried shooing her, cursing at her, even the thought of ending her life had briefly crossed his mind. Damn it horse, you are going to get him killed!

Giant target aside, he had to accommodate to the challenge, keeping himself low to the brush for cover. There was nothing out of the ordinary around, no signs of a battle. The only signs of the deceased where the carcasses of a few dead animals that and been picked clean by stray carnivores. No signs of struggle, fleeing, nothing. In fact, there was not even birds chirping up in the trees and that troubled him the most. Something has scared them off, scattering at the first signs of struggle for self preservation. Animals had a sixth sense about that kind of stuff. Whenever the halla were agitated, it was something they took serious.

Cracking of ground cover brought everyone to alert, the mare rearing up onto her hind legs neighing terrified from the sudden burst of noise. “Oh shit”, he cursed under his breath, scrambling out the way so he would not get trampled on as the front legs came back down. There was bigger things to worry about, mainly as her body did not fall back down forward as it should have but it rolled to the side, flomping down horizontally on the ground.

Instinctively the elf dashed for the nearest cover so he too wouldn’t suffer the same fate, assuming the worst that they were under an attack and dropped down into a crouch behind the wide based trunk. Damn it, where were they? Hearing the whining and crying of the downed beast was heartbreaking, the once majestic creature rolling, trying to get up but was hindered by the arrow jutting out of its neck. Peering out from behind the trunk was a bad idea, another stray arrow embedding into the horse’s chest between the ribs causing a horrific scream. He wanted to put her out of her misery, end her suffering but whoever, however many of them were out there attacked, they knew his position so he couldn’t risk it. He’d have to flank them.

Picking up a nearby rock, Rilien held it in his hand and dropped down onto his belly, using the long brush to camouflaged himself. Slowly, steadily, he crawled to the left, paying extra attention not to draw the attention. A couple of wild pot shots were released, arrows whizzing overhead but nowhere in his direction. Once he got himself into a closer position, his head peered up slowly to eye level. Just one person that he could see but surely they weren’t out there alone. If he got the jump on them, grab them from behind then if needed, he could choke out further positions from them. It could even be someone who has escaped from the camp and is scared, they were too far away to make out clearly and trying to advance in would only end up with an arrow through him. Okay, this is it. Calming breath in, generating clarity and then a soft exhale. He was ready.

With a sharp horizontal throw, the rock left Rilien’s hand skimming through the grass to the right of him, giving it enough height to draw attention away from him. It worked a treat, an arrow embedded into the vicinity of the stone. While their arm was reaching back to grab the next shot, the redhead jumped to his feet and made a mad dash for them. Whoever it was, they were taller than him so much that he had to jump up to wrap his arm around his neck to choke him.

“Drop your bow!” he yelled out in command.

Differences in height was making it harder to maintain the hold, his feet slightly off the ground making him unstable but in return, it was adding further pressure to their throat which would only choke them out faster. The risky move worked, between the raspy gasps for air, the bow was dropped but it did not end there. Now that both arms were free, it left him open to a backwards attack, two elbows striking him into his still sensitive ribs instantly causing him to release the hold. The small drop in the differences in height enough for him to lose his balance and fall backwards onto his posterior, leaving him momentarily open for retaliation. Shit, shit, shit! He had to act quick as he could see the other start to spin around. There was not going to be enough time to get up and run and any turn to move backwards would most likely see him with a sharp stabbing object to the back. Hands straight back over his shoulders, quickly pulling out daggers out of the sheath, Rilien just got them out in time to stop the blade coming down at him. Metal clanged on impact, the two daggers crossed with the sword blade wrestling between, trying to force itself out free. He was in the harder position, the guy, certainly a guy, on top had the added bonus of using downwards momentum to put further pressure while his hands and arms quivered using all the strength he could exhort to stop from being sliced into bits. Well if he was going down then he would get a look at this attacker.

Attack...errrr…?

A man, clearly a man now, not a human but another elf. Short spiky burgundy hair, the darker tanned skin much similar to his and clearly of Dalish origins with the darkened markings of Elgar'nan covering his face, cheeks and chin. His dress sense however was not of that of the Dalish, multiple loose layers, slightly tattered and dirty, something that he would presume that people in the Ferelden alienages would wear. What the most daunting about him was their piercing jade eyes that glared at him as he continued to fight with so much determination while his own widened in shock.

“Daeron! Get off of me!”

Instantly the weight released, the sword put away and an outstretched hand presented itself to him. “Rilien, seriously is that you!?” the other elf asked completely stunned. He did not wait for confirmation as he grabbed him and pulled him in close to his chest, smothering his arms around him in a huge bear hug. “May the Pantheon be smiling down on us.”

Attacker one minute, hugger the next. It was certainly an emotional rollercoaster. One that he wasn’t ready to let go of just yet, his mumbled voice asking him “Why did you not stop when you saw it was me?” while he basked in the love of a familiar face. After everything so far, it was something he was desperately craving. The moment was not going to last forever, that rollercoaster taking a sudden turn with a pull back and shove. “Bastard! You were glaring at me like you were picturing my death.”

“Me, glaring? No, no, you got that steel look down baby brother.” Did he mention that not only was this taller elf known to him but he was also his older brother? Well, he was. A very, very long story about all of that but right now, had to remain focused. Another time perhaps. “I was squinting. I am sweating so much that it ran into my eyes and the stinging, ugh, even wiping it with the back of your sleeve made it sting even more and water up. And then you were attacking me out of nowhere.” 

Of course the attack against him was going to be his validation, only that there was one minor detail left out. “Me? You shot my horse! Twice!” That, the horse. Crap, the horse!

“Well in my defense I was actually aiming for you. I just really suck with a bow and arrow. Hey, Rilien, wait!”

Quickly he rushed to the mare’s side and knelt down beside her, hand to the bridge of her nose, patting and hushing her to help soothe her angst. They couldn’t leave her like this. He had to end her suffering. Reaching his hand into his pouch, he pulled out a small amount of grey powder. He looked into the horse’s big brown eyes and thanked her for her service to the Inquisition and that it would always be remembered. With a small puff of air, he blew the powder into her face and then waited for it to take affect, continually to pet her until she went unconscious. This part was never easy but it had to be done, not being able to rely upon her heart giving out so he had to end it quickly. Inwardly he told her that he was sorry as he pulled his dagger out and drove it into her neck, slicing the artery to bleed her out. His hand returning to her, even though she would not be able to feel it or know was what happened but he continued to pet her until her heart finally stopped.

Daeron knelt down besides his brother, rubbing his back in soothing circles. “Good to see that this Inquisition has not hardened your heart. You were always a kind soul,” he softly murmured, wiping away the small pearl of water sitting on his lash line. Don’t worry little brother, let's present it is a bead of sweat that stung the eyes. “We need to keep moving.”

This was not a happy family reunion, no idle chit chat and a casual stroll to find out how each other were, everything directly related what was lying ahead.

“Why are you here? The elders were pissed when you left.” While their own clan were much more accepting of humans than most, losing one of their own to the glorified life and temptations of the cities still ruffled feathers. Although all it took was one downed elf with a fist to the face after the warning to stop referring to his brother as a flat-ear to cease the chatter amongst the main group. It more than likely continued in hushed whispers.

“Keeper Istimaethoriel has been keeping in contact and even sort my approval before sending you to the Divine Conclave. Good to be kept in the loop,” he grinned feeling very ultra special. “When they could not get in contact with you and all of the issues began to worsen, they wrote me then I wrote the Inquisition to get to you and then when no further word came back from the clan… well, here I am.”

Great, just great. If he had not have contacted a scout to do some reconnaissance work for him, then he would have never have known. The one thing that was keeping him sane the entire journey was that his brother was not in Wycome. Even if things had turned for the worse, he would still be safe. After all of the crap that has been going on in his life, if anything happened to him… “This is insane. If I had only died in the explosion like everyone else-...” Then none of this would have happened.

“Hey! Stop that talk!” Daeron growled. “We all knew the risks in sending someone to spy to begin with. There are many ways this could have come back to bite the clan on the ass and they were prepared for it. Everyone was. And you know what? This Inquisition that you are part of, it brings people hope. Every day I see new people call to arms, stand tall and put themselves out there for this fight because they _believe_ in you. You, a Dalish. Never in my lifetime or the next three generations lifetimes, would I have believed that a Dalish was being looked up to like this Herald of Andraste. We don’t even follow the Maker’s teachings. But here you are as this miracle and it’s like Father always said, you were bound for-...”

“greater things,” they finished in unison. “I know, I know. Gee brother, you are getting sappy in your old age.”

“Sappy would be saying that I’m proud of everything you have achieved. Father would be too.” The elder brother couldn’t resist a ruffle of his hair. “So yeah, I guess I am getting sap-... shit…”

Both of them fell silent, hanging their heads at the sight before them. Grass pushed over, about the width of a body, dark brown gluing the blades in place that traveled forward about a hundred meters. One at either of each side of the trail, step by step the followed, using the evidence left behind to piece together the grizzly puzzle. They must have been attacked back there with a blade, something that would expel blood at a rapid rate. They fell onto their front, crawling along on their belly, trying to get away from their attacker. Begging, pleading, unsure of why they were doing this to them. Right there, there were struck by force enough to roll them off course onto their back. Still they continued to struggle and move away, looking into the cold eyes of the one, no at least two from the sets of footprints, defenseless, no way out.

Daeron was the first to discover the end game, turning his head away placing his hand over his mouth and nose, trying to suppress the bile that rose up in his throat. She did not make it much further. Whenever death is painted to someone, they make it sound so peaceful, that they just fade away into tranquility. At the worst, their eyes would be open. Death was nothing like that, not when you were maliciously stabbed and stalked, the twisted look of horror on her face lasted through to her end. The only thing that could be done for her now was to leave her with a parting prayer in Elven, honoring the ways of his ancestors in the hopes that solace could be found in some way.

“She was one of the first,” Rilien pointed out his findings.

The stench of the rotting corpse was too much for his brother to take, succumbing to the nausea. 

“Given the state of her decomposition, the exposure to the elements and the fact that her guts have been torn and devoured by wild prey, we are looking about a couple of day cycles ago.”

A couple of days too late. No, no that was not going to happen. Clan Lavellan was not some sort of nancy clan that hid away from everyone and everything and hoped that he blew over. They were proud Dalish! While they may not have fought to protect their values at every turn unnecessarily, they were powerful warrior and surely the minimal mages would have stepped up too and been a force to be reckoned with. They would still be there now, fighting to protect, rallying the City Elves to join their fight. Dammit, it is not over!

“It’s not over yet,” his brother reiterated as if he could hear his thoughts, receiving a stiff, determined reassuring nod.

“Of course it’s not.”

Rilien came to his feet and looked forward, scanning his way through the foliage for any further signs they were on the right direction. Above the tree lines there were signs of smoke. Continuing to walk ahead there were signs of damage on the tree bark of someone slashing at it and further animal carcasses that were left to be picked clean, killed by blade and not by other predators. The same people that killed that young elf girl had continued to leave a path of destruction and that path was leading up to the smoke.

“I don’t think we are dealing with frightened nobles and clansmen from the city,” Rilien stated his conclusions from the evidence around them.

Daeron was in agreement. People acting out of fear did not go around and destroy everything that came across them in their path. These killing were callous. “Given the distance we are about quarter of a day's travel away. You thinking what I am thinking?”

“Yeah. We need to wait until after nightfall for our approach. I think we are about to walk straight into an ambush.”


	10. Chapter 10

“Tell me what is going on? Why are you attacking them!?”

Rilien had the portly, armour clad man pinned down on the ground with his entire body weight. Well, the best he could with his poor choice of seating, barely able sit flush on his chest from the modified breastplate that was accommodating the bulging gut underneath. 

“Where are the Dalish from this camp!? What about the elves in the city!?” One hand around the handle, another flat on the pommel, directly under the adam’s apple, ready within a blink of an eye to give a stiff thrust downwards into the soft flesh. 

Still not talking, huh? Applying slight pressure, the elf reminded him of his fate if he did not show compliance. The tip of his dagger pierced through the top couple of layers of skin, knicking it enough to for a droplet to pool in the indentation of his stubbly throat. Given the varying tones ranging from the deepest browns to the vibrant of reds staining the fabric, it was in his best interests to yield unlike the others that have come before him.

Four stationed camps. Four! Four of them and every single one had ended with the same outcome. Every one of them dead and not all of them by his own hand with a handful of pre-deceased soldiers littering the grounds. At first he had come to the conclusion that they had been casualties of the battle, bringing their men back for a later burial so they can move forth with dignity and not rot on a battlefield. That was until he saw the carnage. 

“Vermin, they all are. We exterminated them one by one. Filth.” The man’s voice was distant, scattered, mumbled. He did not even acknowledge him outside of answering the question. His eyes darting around unable to focus on one thing. Just like the others, lost in their own little world.

It had been early in the hours of the morning when they had arrived at the first camp, hiding, watching. Visibility for the men would have been at a low with the cloud covering most of the luminescence of the twin moons. For the elves, they had the advantage. All they had to do was wait, bide their time for the perfect moment to catch them off guard but the never slept. They monitored their movements but they were erratic. These men, they were the guardsmen of the village, the crest of the nobles large upon their armour and yet they were not articulated at all. Unhinged was one way of putting it. Then came the blow.

Without warning, one of the men struck one of his own within the camp, the sound metal clanging, connecting against the brigandine which temporarily saved his life. That was not the end of it, the two of them fought until there was one victor. A some of members of the camp tried to stop them, the others continues to do their own thing completely unaware or uncaring that people were killing each other right there. One post after another the effect were the same. They were turning on their own or themselves, seeing one member of platoon three take a knife to his own flesh, hacking deeply, screaming crazy about something under his skin. The only coherent ones were either killed in the scuffles or refused to talk and were put down by the Inquisitor. This one was not shaping up to be any different.

“Can, you hear them? Hear the song. They call, they call so loud.”

“Hey buddy, what song are you talking about?” Daeron kneeled down at his side, clicking his fingers to attract attention. When that did not work, he cupped his chin and wrestled it to his direction, giving direct eye contact with the man, narrowing the slits to direct a harder focus. “What is wrong with you?”

“Knife-ears are the problem, you are the problem! Duke Antoine knowns that you plebeian scum are responsible!” screamed the man, starting to squirm to get out of the hold. The older elf moved around to his head and leaned over, pushing his shoulders to the ground, trying to grab his attention with calls to calm down but the man was not responsible, continuing to scream at the top of his lungs. “Her sweet voice, she shows us what to do! We will all go to her, we will be safe. This is all a test for her. We will kill every last one of you!”

Wildly the large soldier flailed, bringing his arm up and over. Daeron could not protect himself fast enough in the frenzy, the brutal impact of the soldier’s heavy gauntlet to the head knocked him to the ground, hard. Rilien was losing his balance and therefore control of his dagger which was the first thing the other man’s hand went for, hand so large that is completely engulfed his with a death grip to stop him from up and moving. If he was knocked off onto the ground, he would be dead. His only hope that his brother would compose himself quickly and jump back in, anything to try and calm the man down before the weapon was turned against him. It was a bumpy ride, trying to pull his hand free. One hand crushed, the other fighting to pry the armoured fingers loose, all while he rode on top of the rounded belly like a bucking bronco. Rilien yelled out for his brother but he temporarily dazed, struggling back to anything other than flat on the ground.

The second hand joined the fight, clamping down over the top of his, completely trapped. “Her song will set us free! It’s in us, flowing through our blood. It will not be stopped until it is spilled to this earth and it feeds the trees, it sweetens the water and it purifies us all!” 

During all the scuffle, there was no notice that the blade was still pointed at the soldier. Everything was so quick and the almost superhuman strength the man suddenly possessed, there was no way he could have stopped it. All screaming stopped, only the gurgle remained. Heated wetness sprayed up onto his face from the blood spat out of the mouth of the other from the blade thrust down into his own throat. Dark eyes continued to stare into his own, in return he could not look away. There was no fear. It was almost like a twinkle of happiness. Like he wanted to die, a sacrificial lamb that gave his life for the greater good of something. It took some time for him to expire, Rilien waiting it out for most of the blood to flood internally rather than ripping the dagger out and chance further mess. When he had finally passed, he pried the hands off him, removed his weapon and came back to his feet.

“Are you okay?” he asked his brother, holding a blood stained hand out to him to take.

His brother was not taking the turn of events very well. Body trembling, pupils dilated, all colour drained from his face. “H-He killed himself. Why would he do that?” Fighting to get up, Daeron stumped up to his feet and then fell straight back onto all fours, purging the contents of his stomach onto the ground. “This is something of Fen'Harel’s doing!?”

Taking to a kneel, Rilien wrapped his arms around his big brother in a tight embrace, rubbing his back. He was never the warrior, he hated the fight. He was the type that wanted to see the land, explore caves and find the artifacts of their people and other cultures. If anyone was the true gentle soul out of them, it was Daeron. Nobody should have to experience the callousness of battle, if only there was a way to protect him from it now. Foolish, foolish man. He should have stayed away.

“Daylight is almost upon us but there is still time,” he spoke softly, rocking him gently. “You need to lay down.” The blow to the head and then the shock of what he saw, he was in no fit state to move and sadly, trying to leave now would make him a liability. If this is what they were dealing with now, what would the camp be like? He was going to need his brother’s help so he needed him alert and functioning. “I want you to rest in the tent. I will stay guard.” 

Naturally there was going to be some sort of fight back, this time it was the reminder that their people needed them and that enough time had been wasted. This was quickly shot down in flames, helping him to his feet and walking him to one of the lesser destroyed tents. Sitting him down, he handed him some herbs to take and the bag of water to help wash the taste of the bile from his mouth. He promised him when he woke up there would be some food for his belly to replenish the stamina for what was lost but once again there was a retort. Stubbornness ran in the family. Another battle had been won, Rilien planting a kiss on his forehead and pulled up the blanket to his neck to raise his body temperature back up from the shock. He stayed with him monitoring him while his body relaxed enough to try and get some sleep, the calmatives he gave him helped towards that. When he was lightly resting, the redhead took his exit, back out into the death that seemingly followed him around.

It wasn’t strategically smart to leave the bodies lying around in an obvious sign of battle or that is what he told himself as he moved them one by out out of the way, into the bushland for hiding. What he really wanted was not for his brother to wake up and be reminded of what had transpired. By the time he had finished the sun had already rose, the light stung as he looked up. They would have to move before the sun was at its peak, already feeling the bite of the heat from the rays shining down, the thickness of the humidity already returning. That was going the drain them fast, the dehydration from the sweat. He was going to have to find a water source to replenish the stock or at least search for supplies.

A handful of cured meat strips was all that he could find. Not even a drop of water. Either they thought this battle would be over in a very short period of time or they had not planned this at all and rushed in head first. Nothing about all of this made sense. Ugh! After stuffing the limited supplies into his knapsack, the Dalish had to stop and take a step back, work through the mound of frustration that was slamming him down. He would not admit this aloud but he was physically and mentally exhausted, running on fumes and he had no idea how much longer he could continue. If it wasn’t for adrenaline fueling him during enemy encounters and the drive to push through to save whoever he could, he would have fallen prey to a blade. He needed answers. They needed to get to the clan. So close and yet so far, again the same state of the Inquisition. One step forward, two steps back. What he would give to have something go right for once.

“What I would give for a huge bowl of cawl right about now.”

A hand wanted to slap against his forehead so hard but sadly it couldn’t as a large and very sharp edged axe swung down at him. Taking a dive to the left, the rogue rolled out of the way and sprung back up to his feet, looking for weakness to end this quickly before he sundered in half. 

“Are you kidding me!?” Rilien yelled out, ducking another wild swing from the weapon. “We are being attacked and you want food!?”

“You promised me food and all I got was a piece of dried up leather and then these guys attacked. All of this swinging is making me hungry.”

Fair point, not the ideal time to bring it up. The sun was coming up to being over head by the time they set off again and what was going to be a seemingly short trek was cut short by the ambush that he wished he could have claimed he was expecting. It was all hair trigger reaction time and a heavy, energy expending weapon that allowed him to keep his head on his shoulders. How long for was the next question as this guy was not a run-of-the-mill knight from the city.

Daeron had his own hands busy too, sword out, wildly swinging, stabbing and slashing himself. With exaggerated and constant motions, he was going to expend all of stamina and quickly at this rate. No wonder he was getting hungry. At least get hungry and hit someone!

“Then stop swinging and hit him!”

Having to keep an eye out on his brother’s fumbled movements and his own attacker was going to be troublesome, turning his head in time to see the wide circled swing of the horizontal axe. He dropped straight down to the ground to a prone position, the wind of the momentum gave him a shiver up his spine on how close he was to being headless. However, not was all lost. The force behind the intended kill had embedded the mighty weapon deep into the trunk of a tree and the attacker disorientated from the swing. Propping back up to his feet swiftly, he followed through with a sturdy front kick into his sternum. His armour took the impact but his balance was lost, tumbling him ass over tit away from him and his weapon.

Using that brief moment to his advantage, Rilien pulled the bow off his back and two arrows, quickly dipping the tips into a container from his pouch. Arrow one was aimed up and fired, hitting him into the muscle of his bicep. Not a kill shot, barely a flesh wound, enough to grab the attention of attacker number two. Shit, that wasn’t what he wanted but just roll with it. Second arrow missed for the kill as well, embedded into his thigh with a howl. Ha! That was good enough to slow him down. See Daeron that is how you use a bow. It does not always have to be a kill shot but it should be enough to incapacitate… or not. Did he mention that these guys were not like the other nobles they had come across? Because this huge ass tower of a human just snapped the shaft of the arrow jutting out of him and proceeded to charge.

“Daeron, help!” Rilien called out, bolting in between the trees to put some distance between himself, the human and his original attacker that was now back up and functioning with vengeance.

Speed and agility where thankfully on his side, ducking and weaving around the blades coming at him from all directions, now the sole focus of the attack. A couple of slices from his daggers connected with the stocky man, spilling blood. The other was slowing down the longer the battle drew out, the injuries taking the toll on his body. His brother called out “Ha!” like he had finally spotted his place of victory, his sword drawn high, running towards his target. His positioning was not at all battle practical nor was the battle cry that drew all attention to him. Guessed it worked well, all three of them were distracted watching the spectacle that was an elf charging… charging and tripping.

Flat on his face the elder Dalish fell, his footing catching on part of an uprooted tree. Rilien had to resist the urge to hide his face in embarrassment, the other two found it hilarious, breaking out into laughter.

“I know it was a while ago but how did you ever become fully fledged?” he asked with a shake of his head.

Daeron lifted his face out of the dirt, spitting and barking out the dust that he had swallowed. “Would this be the bad time to say that I technically never did because someone else gained the pelt for me and I passed it off as my own?”

Well, well, well. What a revelation that was. He would have been more bewildered by that if he wasn’t using that time to sneak up from behind and bury his dagger deep into the ribcage of his attacker right where the gap in his armour was, the other skewering into his throat and ripping forward to stop any pre warning that he was attacking. In the end it didn’t matter, the human dropping to his knees struggling to breathe.

“You are kidding right? That was a joke,” he asked while leaning over the gasping man.

Those flesh wounds weren’t going to kill him, the toxin he tipped the arrows with was what was going to do it. All of the muscles in his body going into paralysis and eventually would shut down. The death his partner had was more humane.

“I am absolutely~...” Daeron drew out the reply, already back on his feet and coming over to him. “Not. All true. What can I say, I’m not a fighter or a hunter. Worst protector ever.” His brother on the other hand was quite a proficient killer, looming over the body of the short, stocky man who was still twitching. It was too much to take, he had to look away before he vomited again and he couldn’t afford to lose another stomach load. “They are breeding the shems much shorter these days.”

Who they were was what he was mostly interested in, not what race they were from. Understandable to be curious really. They spent most of their lives cut off from outsiders, not exposed to the different races and cultures as they were busy struggling to preserve their own. Being part of the Inquisition had thrown him in neck deep, sink or swim, learn everything you can in a short time and hope like hell you did not offend someone in the process. Suppose a bit of a cultural experience wouldn’t hurt while he searched their bodies for anything useful. “That’s not a human, that's a dwarf. You know, a durgen’len. They usually live in the Deep Roads. It’s this place that is underground. A lot of them are merchants. They have some sort of a guild. They really love to grow beards.”

“And that very tall mass of a shem over there. That’s a shem, right?”

“Yes that is a much larger human. You know you are quite tall for an elf. You are almost an average human height,” Rilien clarified, reminding him of how a lot of elves felt mighty short against him. “And what is with all this “shemlen” business? You left the clan to be with the humans and now everything is shem this and shem that.”

“It’s being so close to the camp, it’s bringing the Dalish out in me… and he is not dead yet,” Daeron pointed out the horrid gurgling that the one who had collapsed was making. “Please, put him out of his misery. It’s cruel to make him suffer like this, no matter what crime he may have committed against us.”

“Fine. Can you look over his body for anything while I do it. You don’t want to see this.”

Agreement made, the two parted directions doing the task at hand. Hmm, nothing exciting in his satchel that would help. Daeron wondering if he should take a punt and remove his armour plating and see if anything was stuffed down there. If he was going to hide something, he wouldn’t put it in the most obvious place. Success! It had paid off, a wrapped and bound parchment strapped to his grotesquely hairy chest. The elf picked up the blood drenched document and unravelled it, scanning over the words. Shit, oh shit. This was not good. If his brother found out about this…

“Find anything?”

Reacting without thinking, the elder brother stuffed the paperwork down his shirt, turned to the younger one and shook his head. “Nothing… except for another bag of cured meat!” He held out the bag for him to see, shaking it around. “None of these men have a healthy diet. What about some fruit and nuts? A little bit of plant? Dried meat strips is all they seem to consume.” And so will he, taking one out and biting a chunk off. Mmm, delicious.

His brother did not seem to believe him, quite rightfully so, giving him a face that questioned if he was making it all up. What else could he say? He couldn’t tell him what he had found and if he did then...

“Daeron? Rilien? Is that you?”

Saved by the distraction. Phew. A welcomed one at that, both elves running over to met the middle-age blonde elf that had spotted them, both with a short but relieved hug. “Tega, what is going on? Where is everyone?”

If anyone had answers it would be Tegalad. He was one of the Masters of Clan Lavellan and frankly, the best warrior they had. And if he was here then that asked another question, Rilien stepping up, hand on his shoulder, giving him direct eye contact. “Where is Keeper Istimaethoriel?”

Perspectives were always different, the same story could be told many ways based on the experiences and the emotional state of the one doing the retelling. He had the Inquisition’s version, now he got the clan’s version. How it suddenly came out of nowhere, however everything escalated before they had a chance to resolve. Keeper Istimaethoriel went to Wycome to work things out peacefully, make sense of all of this chaos and accusations but they were not receptive to anything. With the clan in danger, they were not going to stay around and fight a battle they knew they could not win, their minds would not be changed. Belongings were packed into the aravels, prepared to set forth when they attacked them from out of nowhere. There was no warning and a lot of lives were lost that day. The ones that remained camped down and put up the resistance for what seemed like many day and night cycles until they appeared to have retreated.

“They are crazed. We sent scouts out to be sure they would not return and what they saw was madness,” Tegalad explained, still unbelieving himself. “Fen'Harel ma ghilana. They were turning against themselves. They fought, they killed and when they were there alone eventually the madness took their toll and they ended their own lives.”

“That is the same thing we experienced,” the elder brother agreed, looking to the younger for confirmation it was the same. “The shems have completely lost their mind. Talking about voices and songs.”

When that happened, they thought they had won, defeated the enemy and remained safe, albeit still determined to move on. Whatever was going on, whatever this plague was, it would only continue to come back to haunt them. With the losses they were unable to move on straight away. Injured needed attending, supplies obtained, damages repaired. “Then they showed up.” The motion was made to the two bodies. “They are not like the others.”

He had that right. The others they had encountered, crazed nature aside, were just as you expected an army, protectors, would-bes. But those guys, they were hardcore. Like an execution squad sent in to clean up the leftovers. “How many of our camps are gone?,” Rilien asked, hearing enough. Everything had gone to hell. They were going to have to restore what was left, bring everyone back together, what was left of them. “How many have we lost?”

“There is only a handful of us left.”

They all knew it was going to be the case, it didn’t make the blow easier. Somehow it was that little glimmer that kept you going, the hope you would be told that most of them made it out alive, scattered into the bushland and went into hiding. That the mighty warriors and hunters stayed back and showed them that the Lavellan clan would not be fucked with and those that perished at the hands of those who they fought would be honored as heroes within the small group.

But they were gone.

Rilien could not find the words to express himself, everything was a mixed jumbled bag of anger, sorrow, self-loathing and self-pity. This was all his fault but he could not have predicted this. If only they had dropped the idea of sending him to the conclave but not everything in this world revolved around him and the Inquisition. Just another case of elf xenophobia that was brought on by some big wig shemlan’s need to cover his own ass. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair! None of them should have suffered like this, like that girl they found, brutally murdered. They just wanted to be left alone, to live their life as their own and to try and preserve the culture they had with minimal impact on those around them. He will kill them all! Every single one of the. Nothing was going to stop him from tracking them down one by one, drawing out their demise, making them look into his eyes and laughing as they pissed their pants in fear knowing that it was an elf that ended their fucking-...

“Lethallin, calm down. You are not to blame for this.”

“Of course I am not! Why would you even-... oh..” Subconsciously his internal monologue has worked him up into so much of a state that he had unconsciously reacted upon them. Fists balled up, pacing back and forth with his head angled down staring at the ground. Probably even muttered an aggressive word or two that tipped them off to what he was thinking. “We need to find them.”

That was the plan. Track down the ones that were left, tell them where to rendezvous and then make their way far away from there. Maybe even leave the Free Marches. Ultimately they would need the keeper’s guidance for that. “Rilien, we need you to find Istimaethoriel. When the conflict started, we sent her to flee with a couple of protectors to the west. Those bodies have since been recovered and there has been no signs of Deshanna which leads me to believe she is still safe and on the move. Lethallin, you are our best tracker and she is our priority.”

Protect the keeper at all costs, it was something the Dalish lived by. With little information physically stored about the clans and the arlathvhen being the only means that knowledge was spread between them, the Keeper’s life became sacred as they were the ones that stored all of this knowledge. Without theirs, clan Lavellan would become one more of those lost to the earth, never to be thought of again.

“My brother…” he started to protest, not willing to leave him behind in this mess. Before he could get it out, Daeron was there to reject whatever it was he was going to say.

“...will be fine,” the elder one assured him, giving a playful ruffle of his hair. “I’m safer here with Tega. Look how built he is!” Daeron gave him a good slap on the bicep, followed with a squeeze. Muscles, he had them. “This pep talk is now just wasting time so shoo shoo.”

Each of them collected belongings and gave a quick scout around the area for anything useful. Tegalad gave them the brief rundown of the plan so they were on the same page as communication was going to be scarce. Find their targets and head up north to Antiva and regroup. Get away from the Dales, leave everything behind and then move on together to something new, away from any human civilization preferably if this is the end outcome.

“Stay safe,” the eldest Dalish said as they were about to part ways. “Andruil will be on our side.”

"Be swift and silent. Strike true, do not waver and let not your prey suffer," the youngest followed up, quoting the Vir Tanadahl. He could not say that he was true in following those words, looking over at the body of the man he had let suffer only recently. Just because he did not believe in the pantheon themselves, it was still a solid moral guideline to follow.

The words encouraged a smile from the warrior, continuing on with "As the sapling bends, so must you. In yielding, find resilience, in pliancy, find strength." Showing mercy where mercy was required was not a sign a weakness, it could make you the stronger.

And finally Daeron flashed a cheesy grin, clearly ecstatic by the bonding moment they were all sharing. "Receive the gifts of the hunt with mindfulness. Respect the sacrifice of my children. Know that your passing shall nourish them in turn." Those who had been lost would not be wasted, returning to the ground to grow the trees around them, spreading their life into the new.

That was it, all said and done. Resisting the urge to give his brother one last deep hug, Rilien turned afoot and set off in the other direction. He only managed to make a couple of feet before turning back, calling out to them. “Daeron really can’t hit anything around him so keep him off to the side if there are any other battles.”

“I know,” he called back, his tone equally showing that this was not new news. “He did not even get his own pelt. He is lucky I covered for him.”

Really? Really!?

“You are as bad as each other!” He was one of their master warriors, he shouldn’t have been encouraging manipulation of the trials. “Oh well, at least you are prepared.”

Probably more than what he was. The downpour of rain that has been threatening them for a while had finally hit, spraying his face with the welcoming cooling he has been desperately seeking. Now it was only being a hinderance, destroying the tracks he had been following to find the keeper. His keeper’s tracks were not the only ones that were out there as there were at least another pair following as well as animals. Given the company they had ran into previously, he could guess that they were the clean up crew and those animals were the Mabari they were using to track down the scent of those who were remaining.

Shit! Some time after of stumbling around just trying to pick up any remnants of the trail had failed. It was like it just suddenly vanished. There had to be something, anything! The ones that were following her moved off to the right, that he could still see but the ones he had been following that should have been Istimaethoriel’s had just disintegrated.

_Something is not right! There is no chance the rain and destroyed all traces of her but not of them._

Frustrated, he took a seat down on a nearby log and took a short break. He had to calm down, he had to focus so if taking a breather to replenish and nourish himself was going to do that then he had to do it. Again the thickness of the humidity had returned with the rain once again stopped. Another day would be passing soon, the sun starting its descent. Once it had hit night time then it would be another fruitless day but still there was time. Just needed to put that recently acquired snap temper of his to rest. While he relaxed and ate, his thoughts turned to the Inquisition and what they were all doing. Was he really that figure head that they needed him to be, making everything come to a standstill without his constant input or were they moving on and managing without him? If he knew them as well as he thought he did, they would be strong and would continue as nothing had changed, progressing forward more like it. He really missed them all. Yes, even Solas. There was brief moments where they could have a conversation without it turning to an argument. Despite all of this adversity, all of this shit, he really wanted to return to them. They were his friends and he missed them all dearly.

_What is that?_

Cocking his head to the side with curiosity, a strange pattern on the bark caught his attention directly between his legs from where he had been sitting. Kneeling down in front of it to get a closer look, he examined the marking and then intuitively looking at his hand. A match! It was a perfect match! With fingers slightly spread apart, his shadowing hand position mimicked what was soaked into the log. The redhead rose to his feet with great clarity, eyes carefully scanning back to see any of the telltale signs to confirm what he was thinking. Oh yeah, swish! Score one for the Inquisitor. 

Those footprints, one of them had been set deeper into the dirt and grass in a shortened distance from each other with every four to five steps there would be a soft half crescent moon shape with the occasional speckle of blood. _Just as someone who was limping, afraid to put pressure onto an injured limb._ From this evidence, it would appear that the keeper had fallen prey to a trap. Be it hunters to capture wild animals or those other that were using them to capture ‘wild’ elves, it would seem that one had snapped around Istimaethoriel’s leg. She would have struggled frantically to pull it off, to get away before they caught up to her. It would not have been a clean removal so the pain would overcome and when it became too much, she stumbled right near the log. That was her bloodied handprint used to push herself back up.

She would have known they were using Mabari to hunt her down. They would have smoked out that scent faster than you could say “King Alistair was a bastard child” so somehow she was able to… disappear? Look, it’s far fetched for sure but Deshanna was a mage, one that could heal. Time would have been returned to attend to her wounds. If she could somehow dispel her scent and send them on a wild goose chase in the other direction then she could have done that to buy her some time. Magic could do a lot of things. It was not able to be used as a warming lubricant but it could do something like that, right? It relied upon the thin boundary between the real world and the Fade so if you tear some of the fabric between the two, that could do something if magicked correctly? Okay fine, he didn’t understand it enough but that was the best logical thought he could come up with and damn sure he was willing to believe that and that she could still be hiding out close by then to believe she was dead.

Since the trail went cold here then this was going to be his homing position, spread out and form a search pattern based from this… Suddenly something brushed against his outer layer of clothes with a high velocity. Glancing over at his arm, there was a newly discovered hole in it and then down in the ground had sprouted a new type of plant… no wait that was an arrow sticking diagonally out of the grass. Not making any sudden rash movements, Rilien’s eyes looked up at the treeline and the approximate trajectory where it would have came from. Not taking his eyes off the trees, his fingers dipped into the newly formed rip and into wetness, obviously not fairing as well as he thought he had with blood seeping out of his arm. Well considering it could have been much worse and he could have an arrow jutting out of him. No complaints. 

“I was wondering how long it would be until we crossed paths again,” he smirked upwards, cockily addressing the new arrival with reversing his fingers through the hole, giving his digits a bit of a wave.

Beautiful, dirty blonde, porcelain skin, deadly. His silent stalker had once again emerge from the shadows to reveal herself. So why was she here? It would be far fetched to think that this was all some sort of elaborate plot, that she was some agent of Corypheus that had been watching him and now that he was apart from the group, vulnerable, it was the time to strike? At this point, nothing seemed far fetched.

...And still not talking. Cat got your tongue? This conversation would have gone so much better if she actually spoke. Even produce a maniacal laugh. Answers were required, any kind of explanation. He had the feeling that her own only form of answer would be in the form of arrows and some kind of upcoming fight. Best to prepare himself, pulled a strip of fabric out of the pouch and wrapping it tightly around his arm to slow down the bleeding. Even though both of them watched each other like a hawk, the stalker was kind enough to give him the time to prepare himself. Mutual courtesy perhaps? No fun when someone is not prepared to put in the good fight. Using his teeth, he tightened the knot and then gave her another pretentious grin. He was ready. She was too with two arrows fired directly at him in rapid succession. This was going to be one hell of a sparked up fiery conversation.

Last check showed that he had only three arrows and a handful of knives. Again, this battle was going to be at a loss if she kept the distance and the vantage point. However, her supplies were not endless either. Rilien tested the boundaries of how far she could go, ducking and weaving around the trunks, hearing the air whistle close to him as arrows took chase. The trees were limiting her movements, unable to jump across from one to another given how thin the limbs the branches were. Good news that meant she was stuck unless she came down and if he had his way, that means by falling. 

Testing a theory, a knife was thrown up, purposely not going in for a wounding shot but enough for her to have to move. Waves of arrows stopped. Feet teetering, arms out parallel trying to maintain balance. In an effort to conserve his supplies, the Dalish picked up a rock from the ground and pitched it up at her with the illusion she was going to have to dodge another knife. Hit or miss if this would work, he prayed for the hit.

A startled yelp gave the answer, the blonde losing her balance, falling off her perch. It would have been all too easy it she landed straight on her back and fumbled around disorientated for a while. She was clearly a professional, one that was better than him. She may not have hit the ground with a thud but it left her body wide open and vulnerable, Rilien capitalizing on this which a quick fired shot aiming at the widest mass of her body. To be impaled in the chest or take it in the leg. That was the crucial decision her brain would have had to calculate, taking whatever skills she had been taught and weighing up what would be the best for recovery. Her fast reaction and cat like agility were her undoing from the plummet, landing with her feet dead set on the ground, knees bent taking the brunt of the impact and arms poised to the side to steady her balance. Fall and recovery versus high velocity arrow. Arrow won, piercing through her chest with enough force to exit.

Yes! Score another victory for the Inquisitor!

However, excitement aside, he knew how this game played out. Nothing was too easy for them. Carefully he moved over to where her body fell, taking the time to look around for any traps that could be set. It looked like he had triggered one or so he thought, her general vicinity filled with a cloud of smoke and when it had cleared, she was gone.

No, no, NO! That was not possible. There was no way an entire body could disappear like that. He had seen stealth techniques used by Sera. The Red Jenny was highly skilled in making herself ‘disappear’, being able to use alchemy to give the illusion, visual tricks to elude the enemy but to be able to be physically be gone. Nope. There would still have to be her body mass there. There would have been some sign of her body being there. Coming down to his knees, lilac eyes frantically scanned for any telltale signs she had really been there. No dissemination of dirt from the fall, no crushing of dry leaves under the body weight. No resonance of warmth under his hand from her body heat of where she laid. Nothing. Not even a drop of blood from the exit wound. It was like she never existed and it was all in his head.

 _Crack._ Almost on queue came the splintering of foliage under what have been a footstep, the only sound his astute assumably assassin would make to tip him off to her presence. _Click_. That was the sound of a weapon, giving her affinity for bows it could only be assumed to be a crossbow, chambering the bolt readying to be fire. Nowhere to run. He was exposed.

Checkmate. Whatever this game of hers was, she had won.

Lazily his eyes closed over, head and body up straight. Taking in a deep breath, Rilien filled his lungs and held onto the breathe for a few long moments, feeling all of the muscles in his body relax as he slowly released. Nothing but clarity, his fate was accepted. There was just one thing he wish he could done. He wished he could have told Dorian, that he-...

The impact of the arrow tearing into his body caused him to collapse face first onto the ground, warmth moderately trickled down his chest. Each gasp of air burned, in fact the heat was the only thing he could feel as it continued to spread out engulfing the entire right side of his upper body. His head pounded in time with the sounds of the footsteps pursuing him. Heartbeat quickening giving him the surge of adrenaline to try and pick himself up and move as his fight or flight mode kicked in. Legs underneath failed to give him the strength to stand him up so his left hand clawed at the ground, using all of the energy he could muster to pull himself forward. Every time he moved he could feel the tip of the arrow head scraping along the ground, little by little tearing flesh along with it. Luckily for him there was no pain, just numbness. Numbness and heat.

First experience of excruciating pain was when he received a boot to the ribs. The instinctive roll over and into a ball to protect the bones put him into a worse predicament, straight onto the short shaft of the arrow, pressing it further into his body. He would not give her the satisfaction of hearing him scream, instead tucking his face into his useable shoulder to smothering his cries. Why did she not go for the kill shot? What was she toying with him? That cat and mouse mentality. The prey was in her sights, wounded, terrified. Instead of going in and piercing the jugular, she would dangle it from her mouth by the neck, violently shaking so it can feel the torment. If it's neck broke during that time then it was lucky to have the quick death, otherwise all you could do was beg for the end.

Rilien couldn’t even begin to uncurl his body from the fetal position he had retreated to, gravely shaking as his body temperature started to shift from one extreme to the other. With the arrow still embedded, it was reducing his chance of bleeding out but with the tear widening from all of the brutal blows, that chance was greatly increasing.

“C-Come on. Let’s talk about this,” the elf hoarsely but definitely croaked, giving her the big FU. Someone touched a nerve, another stiff kick to the gut had him groaning between the winded coughing and yet, still highly amused with himself.

For the time being, her assault had ended, seemingly preoccupied with something else. Who was this woman and why was he her mark? If she was working for the big bad C then he would have wanted his head on a stake, dead as a doornail dead so him and his anchor could not put any further dents in his plans. 

His head pounded relentlessly, vision hazy. Maintaining consciousness was progressively becoming harder and he was still refusing to go down without a fight. So he watched her, studied her movements, all while using his only functioning arm to slowly and discreetly reach down to the strap around his leg that housed his knives. Sweat beaded on his forehead from the heat, exertion and the anticipation, feeling the pound of his heartbeat reverberating in his ears. It was so loud that it blurred everything else out. Each breath sounded as forceful as a gale wind. Nerves made his clammy hand tremble, making the handle harder to grasp. Any minute now she would turn around and see him and if she did, it was all over. Inch by inch he tugged the blade out of the holder, just that little bit further...

A sudden voice shocked him, fumbling, almost dropping the knife onto the ground. The rogue was able to recover, tucking the knife into his chest, eyes darting around scanning for the source. No one, there was no one there at all except for the other elf and we all knew how she was one of very few words. Then something caught his eye, a glimmer of incandescent green shadowing the woman. Much like the mark on his hand. Like the spirits he saw at night lurking around outside of Skyhold. It was talking to her.

Was he hallucinating? Did she tip the first bow that grazed him with something? First she survived a kill shot and now there was a talking spirit floating next to her. Rilien tried hard to listen into the conversation but it did not last that long, only catching the words that sounded like she was instructed to put him down. That was the slap across the face he needed to get him riled up. Nothing like overhearing that you are about to be murdered. It was now or never.

The blonde kneeled down in front of him, wordless as usual. Carefully she studied him, clearly looking for any signs that he had been up to mischief while she was away. After she was satisfied with the results, she grabbed him by the scruff of the collar lifting him up enough off the ground and grabbed the arrow and the base and yanked it hard. Rilien screamed out at the callous move, the head shredding at skin and muscle as she forcefully tried to make it go back out the way it came. Between the screaming and swearing did he manage to spit at her which stopped her actions, the thick gob of saliva sticking to her face. That perfect china like complexion cracked a scowl, displeased, wiping away the fluid with the back of her hand. Her response to that came in the form of a fist into his face that busted his nose open. It hurt like a mother fucker, there was no doubt about that but it was oddly satisfying knowing that he had got under her skin. And he would continue to do so again, smirking audaciously, his crimson stained teeth metaphorically slapping her in return. This was his checkmate, bitch.

Her raised fist for the second blow was cut short, the assassin perplexed at what had happened. She looked down at the knife he had thrust into her body, the blade deeply embedded inside of her. He would have thought that was it, she would have retreated the lick her wounds and if she was lucky enough to survive, come back to fight another day. Not even a chance to lift a hand with the girl pouncing on top of him, hands around his throat with a constricting grasp. Legs frantically flailed in attempts to throw her off, the one usable hand clawing at her arms trying to find any sensitive place to get her to release the grip. Pressure furiously build up inside of his head, the lack of oxygen had him seeing stars.

Blindly feeling out to his side, Rilien searched for anything that he could use to overcome her. Fingertips just brushed against what he thought may have been a rock or something of a close description, only it was just out of reach. That was not going to work. He would lose consciousness before he got his hand on that and then he remembered. A sudden burst of oxygen filled his lungs now able to breathe once again, coughing and spluttering while she released a shrill shriek from the twisted blade embedded in her. If was in her best interest now to flee otherwise she was going to bleed out quick with that knife wound twisted open. Only he couldn’t believe his eyes as she tore the blade out of herself, spewing blood all over him, both hands holding onto the handle which she raised high above her head. One guess where that was about to come down into.

The sound of cracking of the thick bone of her skull was sickening as he smashed the rock into it, his body managed to twist and get enough leverage to get his hand on it, swinging back with full velocity. Off from on top of him she tumbled but she was stilling putting up a fight, grabbing him by the collar. His arm and hands taking defensive wounds while she continued to swipe with the sharp blade. This needed to end, whatever it takes. The second blow with the rock dropped the hold she had on him, the third stopped the knife. Seventh, eighth and ninth there was no explanation for it, caught in a blood crazed frenzy with all intent to make her stop. By the time Rilien came to his senses there was no count for how many times he struck, his arm numbed. Skin and clothes thickly stained with blood and sinew, her face unrecognisable. Exposed muscles twitched from the last of the impulses sent from the brain, the gurgling and wheezing of the final breaths… and he had caused it all.

When they sing inspirational songs of the bravery of those who marched off to battle and then re-tell the drunken tales of battle around the bars at night, the neglect to mention the realism of those moments. Killing for necessity, killing for survival. Never had he taken a life in such a brutal fashion. The sight was horrid, callous and yet, to finally put an end to it. Knowing that he came out the victor, it was downright almost pleasurable… He was a monster. What was happening to him?

Crawling off of her lifeless body, he collapsed on the ground. Breathless, exhausted, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. If he could just keep moving then perhaps he could delay the inevitable. Using the log as a point to move to with the same idea of bringing himself to his feet much as he had assumed the keeper had, was a struggle. It was only a foot away, determination continuing to drive him, drawing close, so close that his fingernails dug into the bark. Dammit, he was not going to die here. He was not going to be one of those bodies that they had come across on their travels with their final confessions scribbled out and left to be stumbled upon. There was no giving u-...

“Da'len, stay awake.”

Eyelids fluttered open to the setting sky. Somehow he was on his back, not the last thing that he remembered. A soft hand pressed against his forehead that turned to rest against his cheek, the thumb wiping away the droplet of water that splashed against him. “Mamae? Is that you?” lazily groaned the question. Maybe he could wait for the answer or maybe he could just closed his eyes for a second…

“This is going to hurt. Bite down on this, hard.”

Searing agony tore through his shoulder, the cries muffled by the supportive thin branch between his teeth that he had been instructed to bite into. The heat intensely engulfing his entire chest, the pressure building, tightening his muscles. Not much longer, they told him, only a little bit more. Not that it felt like that to him, his chest arching up trying to finds any alleviation from the torment. Tighter, hotter, just make it stop. Just hurry up and… then the sudden relief, his body collapsing back down onto the ground. That spirit, she was back. Her hand reaching out towards him, towards his shoulder. Lethargically his head rolled down to look at what it was motioning at, the exposed wound profusely losing the liquid that helps to give him life. That was a lot of blood, that was all of his blood. So much blood…

“Da'len, come on, focus on me. Keep your eyes open. Da'len stay with me.”


	11. Chapter 11

What was that saying? Blood is thicker than water? There was many interpretations of it around depending on who you talked to. Most refer to it as the covenant between family members being greater than any temporary alliance you could forge between friends. Some saw it as the unbreakable bonds forged on the battlefield, your clansmen, soldiers, those you entrusted with your life. Together you slayed and spilled the liquid of life from those who threatened the prosperity of those they have vowed to protect. You got my back, I got yours. Stronger than any water from the womb.

All he was taking away from that saying was the literal sense, the thicker, denser stream of deep ruby dripping down the wooden edge of a table. The resinous syrup ebbing closer, spreading from what or whom laid at his side. A soft cry for help, the desperate plea for someone to take away the indescribable feeling. Confusion when there should have been comfort. Those cries were soon muffled, still there but just quieter and shortly thereafter, they were no more. 

His hand tried to reach out to offer than, only that his body was heavy, unresponsive, watching the pool of red come in closer until the warmth cupped his cheek. What was going on? Why was this happening? Droplets of ruby red splashed against his forehead, the thinner consistency from the fresh flow trailed down to his mouth, the bitter copper taste rancid. Words, talking of a language he did not understand. It started as a tranquil mumble that escalated to a more passionate chant, one that instilled fear within him. Who are you? Why are you doing this?

Light flicked off metal capturing his attention. Whatever it was, it was not good with another drop of blood hitting him in the face from this heightened position above. This was scary, he did not want anything to do with this. Who is that person next to him? What are they going to do!? Last minute struggle to move to freedom, rocking from side to side for any time of momentum. Kicking, screaming. Anyone please, help! Why is nobody here to help!? Terror-stricken, crying out the top of his lungs. Please will anybody please come and save them?

Another droplet of heat fell against his face, this time it was different. Thinner, saltier. All of the fear suddenly dispersed, overcome with gut–wrenching sorrow. His own tears flowing as hard as the one above him, the only way he could display the confusion of everything around him. Again, some more words uttered unable to understand, a hand on to the top of his head with a soothing pet, a thumb stroking his forehead. Fingers trailed down this cheek, tendering, almost loving. Further down they continued to his neck, painting up and down his throat. Was it over? 

“You are both monsters. I need to erase my mistakes.”

Constricting, heavy. All air was being restricted and with no strength, it could not be fought off. All he could do it stare, stare up at the one looming over him ominously. Those cold, lifeless, almost demonic eyes staring back at him. They were like nothing he had ever seen before. It was also going to be the last thing he ever saw.

Folklore says that when you are able to die in a dream, you are awoken before you take your final breath. That must have been his case, jolted awake frantically gasping to reclaim what was lost. It felt so real, more so than most but it was only a nightmare, something he had been constantly plagued with since being ‘blessed’ by the mark. Normally he would have woken up to familiar surroundings to bring him back, the haze of nightmare and reality blurring where he was. A shadow of an foreboding presence lingered over him, his mind drawing conclusions that whoever this person was within his dream was now outside of it to finish the job.

“I’m not a monster. Don’t kill me,” the frightened elf pleaded. The pitch of his voice was one of a terrified child, his actions matched with hands trying to bat away the ones approaching him, nails scratching at arms any time they drew close. Nothing like the skilled assassin he was starting to become.

“Da’len, calm yourself. You are safe here.”

“Deshanna?”

Clarity came, everything started falling back into place. Searching for his clan, trying to find his keeper and then being ambushed by that girl once again. He had been injured and now he was there with her which means…

”Ouch, hey! What did you do that for!?” Rilien whined aloud, shrinking back from the hand that had pinched him by the ear and gave it a stiff twist.

“Leaving for a while is no excuse to lose your manners,” the middle-aged elf huffed, her accent broad and heavy. “So informal. Aye, you and your brother were always little shits but to come back here and forget your place.” Another pinch and this time a pull upwards on the point of his ear, inflicting pain on the sensitive body part that received a ‘oww’ mantra and a head following along with it to stop the pull. “What’s my name Da’len?”

“Keeper… ouch, stop pulling!” She was not stopping, in fact it spurred her on more with a quick yank. “For the love of… Keeper Istimaethoriel! Now let go!”

Once the apprehended ear was released, Rilien gingerly rubbed the crushed cartilage, muttering elven curses under his breath. From talking to people around Skyhold who has been curious about the Dalish way of life, most of them had used descriptive words like ‘kind’, ‘gentle’, ‘wise’ and ‘loving’ whenever they spoke about their illusions of what they believed a keeper should be. Not Deshanna. Blunt, short tempered, outspoken. That was the type of keeper he knew. Illusion completely decimated. 

“And you be best to remember that. Next time I will give you a good kick up the arse if you forget it.”

He was almost tempted to throw in the retort that he could not understand what she was saying, the brogue accent of hers made it difficult to translate what she was speaking sometimes. Not that he was going to chance getting on her bad side twice in a short span of time. Don’t let those pepper streaks lacing her fiery copper locks fool you, she wouldn’t hesitate to put someone onto their backside. Not born into clan Lavellan, there has been many of a rumour to where Deshanna came from originally, many of the fanatical tales were told around campfires at night. Murder, mystery, sexual promiscuity, some of them were even as crazy as the tales of Flemeth.

“Was it a nightmare?” She may have been vulgar as a pirate and could down booze as good as one too but there was one thing for sure that he knew about his keeper and that was she was fiercely protective of them all.

“Something like that. These days I just call them dreams,” shrugged Rilien, sitting up. “Nothing like the death and destruction of loved ones around you to help you to wake up feeling positive and refreshed.” His words strained towards the end, stretching out his body, rolling his shoulder to work out the stiffness. “Still hurts.”

“You talking about your injuries or your heart?” Deshanna asked, examining the wound site or what was left of it. The noncommittal turning his head away told her she hit the nail dead on but of course, he wasn’t going to say it. “Muscle memory still remembers. Magic can only do so much. I have lost count of how many times you have gone arse over tit so just be happy you have an arm.” With words spoken through gritted teeth, her index finger pressed into fabric covering him, giving the area a quick stab to inflict a swift burst of pain. “Ungrateful sod.”

Rilien winced with a small ouch, the point sinking through. He apologized still with a snarky retort, pulled his undershirt back over and rose to his feet. A little shaky were the first couple of steps, his hand pressing up against the stone wall around them to hold himself upright, using it as a guide to take the short walk to the opening ahead. The night cycle had come but had not gone since he had succumbed to his injuries. A bolt of light and a thunderous clap provided a brief flash of light inside the small cave they were taking refuge in, the skies had opened up as a heavy storm front had hit them. Navigating in that was going to be hard but they could not stay around there forever and wait it out.

“They have mabari trackers on you,” the rogue explained in case she was not aware. “Tega and Daeron are trying to locate any survivors and we are going to regroup and head into Antiva. Almost everyone is dead.” As much as it hurt to say it, it was something that he couldn’t dwell on. They needed to get moving. “Your safety is our top priority now.”

“Not anymore,” she clarified, passing him a flask of water with all intentions for him to drink it. “You have become the most important elf in Thedas and if that lass is anything to go by, I don’t think they are after me.”

\--------------------------

"Tethras, you can't go pissing the patrons off like that. This isn't one of your dives in Kirkwall. The last time this happened, Josephine had to sweet talk the entire kitchen staff to stop serving nothing but turnips to the rest of us as punishment for your swindling and I hate turnips."

Overturned tables, downed chairs, broken glass and a few pot shot arrows embedded into the wall and right dead smack in the middle of it all was one dwarf. Raising his arms with a shrug of confusion to maintain his innocence, Varric tried to take the sweet talk approach to work his way out of this one.

“Come on, you can’t think that I could have caused all of this. Those aren’t even my arrows. And there is nothing wrong with a little turnip in your diet. I’m sure it a good source of fibre.” 

The only thing missing was a bat of his eyelids to woo the crowd if he was so inclined to do so. Precious and guilt-free in every way. It was not his fault at all that they were so terrible at playing Wicked Grace. Nor was it his fault that they had dug themselves into so much of a hole that they had not only lost all of their money, a crate of whisky that was blessed by crazy Avvar tribe and a crate of the finest furs that he would ever see according to the sell job. All of that, fine. What set them off was when they lost their pet goat named Muldoon McCuddy and then all hell broke loose.

Arms akimbo, the woman in charge of running Herald’s Rest, the tavern that was set up for the relaxation of the soldiers of the Inquisition, was not having a bar of it. “I get it, you are cocky. All jokes.” Fingers positioned into her mouth giving a quick, stiff burst of air, bellowing out a shrill whistle to grab the attention of the remaining patrons that did not run from the scuffle. These men and women were the true dedicated drinkers so her voice raised up louder so they could all clearly hear her. “Laugh it up everyone because the great writer of that trashy series, what is it? Hard in Something, whatever it is, doesn’t matter. This illustrious man right here has potentially ceased the import of the very goods you are drinking right now. No beer, no wine, no liquor whatsoever. The only thing we may be able to get in will be that watered down piss lolly water and even that will have to sold at, at least, ten silvers a drink.”

A sudden outrage erupted, complaints only growing louder as they were more agitated, trying to talk over each other. Blasphemy! No one would take away their booze! Varric started to fear for his own personal safety when the ones on the lower levels rose to their feet, all eyes fixated on him. While they were not rushing in for a beat down, there was the intent to escalate it, complaints wildly thrown as they moved closer step by step. The dwarf turned to the tavern owner and then to the mob and then back to the owner looking for any form of support. Errr, nothing. 

“Fine, fine! I will release them from their bets. Everything will be returned,” the dwarf yelled out, hands up in the air showing his surrender. “You happy?” he growled under his breath to the woman whose smirk gave him the answer.

Couple more reassurances to the surly bunch that he would do it straight away and a handful of peanuts from the bar before he left because he lost out on all of those goods so they could definitely lose some peanuts, exiting towards to the tent grounds before someone could take a final pot shot. Safety, freedom. He completely understood in this case after all, he frequented the establishment as well. Granted he could have used his merchant’s guild connections to get himself a personal stash but having to fear for his safety in a place that should be safe, not on his agenda.

Tears of joys flowed as Muldoon McCuddy had come home. Not that he had left yet. The goat was safe, the traders were happy and once again things were good. Could have at least let him keep the booze. However as luck would have it, he would not leave completely empty handed, spotting his next victim.

“Sparkler, fancy seeing you here. You would not believe what just happened,” Varric broke into his rendition of the tale that just occurred with much more of a dubious twist. Naturally he was the innocent victim in all of this that was duped out of his winning with the threat that all flow of alcohol would stop coming into Skyhold. He was now the saviour for them all by relinquishing them of their debt and therefore should be treated like a hero. “They should be holding some sort of soiree in my honour.”

“Or you could pick who you hustle better. I refuse to go through the Great Turnip Feast of 9:41 again,” the Tevinter huffed, reminiscent of that bland hell.

Pushing of the heavy door open seemed to equal his mood, a palm slamming into the wood and swinging it open savagely. Straight up to the desk he marched and dropped a stack of books with scribbled pieces of paper poking out from all directions with a solid thud. “And would it kill anyone around here to provide a fresh fruit basket every once in awhile? What about some fresh baked bread? We are too busy feeding all of the dignitaries that are lingering around the compound hoping they will dig deep into their pockets and provide funding, that we forget about us? Every a beautifully piece of medium rare steak, the kind that just melts in your mouth. The only thing that is melting in my mouth recently has been…”

Moral crusading halted with snigger and a snort, not at all hard to put two and two together and know what that was all about. “Varric, really? Was that really necessary?” Dorian asked, turning to him with a roll of his eyes.

“Wasn’t me,” he straight up replied, hands up guilt free. 

Which means it had to have been… both turned to Cullen, the blonde hanging his head sheepishly. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.” And they did just barge into his quarters announced and caught mid conversation in what seemed like a very inappropriate conversation. Can’t blame him for that little reaction.

Better yet, what caused the outburst? That was the question on both of their minds. No matter what came his way, the Atlus mage was always quick-witted, on his toes, able to brush the most harshest of critics off with flare. This was more like he had woken up on the wrong side of the bed and it was very off putting. Who are you and what did you do with that fantastic man?

“Something seems to be off,” probed Varric to find the source of the issue. The only time he ever come across him in a state like this was when he “accidentally” aka was spying on him and the Inquisitor talking to some fancy Orlesian over something. The result? One bronzed man storming off in a cantankerous mood, followed by morose tension for the rest of the trip. “You and Bull not in a good place?” Cause naturally it must be man problems. “Need to have a talk to someone?”

Sudden air of silence, there may have been an actual cricket chirping up in the rafters that they could hear. Who was going to be the one to speak first? Did the author hit the nail dead on the head? Was that Cullen’s eyes suddenly diverting to the ground in secondhand embarrassment? Damn that cricket was getting louder.

“There is nothing going on between Bull and myself.” Broke the tension with Dorian’s announcement. Only that it did not stop there, hostile tone and movements returned. “So wherever you are getting this preposterous disparagement from…”

“Everyone knows,” it was apathetically announced in unison.

Yes, yes, deny it all he wanted for whatever the reasons he wanted but the small knit community was not that blinded or self absorbed in their own little worlds. Sadly, everyone was up in each others' business where nothing was sacred.

“Accidentally opened the door up without knocking once. I still can not wipe that from my memory.”  
“Oh no, your virginal eyes. How will you ever be able to look at a woman with those now?”  
“... What makes you think I’m a virgin?”  
“Being a Templar, devoting yourself to the Chantry? Must be pure and not give into temptation but tell the truth, surely there would have been one pretty mage or even another templar that stole your heart. On that pretty mage stolen heart thing, I was betting on Team Inquisitor to do that. The typical elven androgynous looks and the baby-faced nature surely would melt a few hearts. But no, a pile of silvers down the drain with that one. And I was so sure it would happen.”  
“You mean the Inquisitor and Dorian? No, really? He doesn’t at all see the type, not that I know what the type would be but he didn’t really strike me as being gay either. I mean there has been a couple of offhanded jokes but they seemed all in lighthearted fun. He seems more of a grey area if there is anything like that.”

Being the focus of gossip was not at all uncommon. Eventually it was water off the duck’s back, let people to believe whatever they wanted to because after all, he was not out there to impress anyone. Say whatever they want but as soon as the Inquisitor was brought into it, this conversation had to stop. The best way he knew how was to drop the books he was carrying down onto the table, the air from the decent scattering loose paperwork to the ground.

“Oh, terribly sorry. Did I disturb your conversation?” Dorian sneered, blatantly leaving the condescending tone there to tip them off about his thoughts. “I do have things to speak to our Commander about that are of far greater importance.”

“He broke your heart, didn’t he?” Varric asked, unable to try and weasel more out of him. There was something there that he was holding back and he could tell it. Sixth sense. People do not spend that much time getting under each other’s skin without some sort of deep-seated sexual desire. Except if it was him and the Seeker. Not at all going there. Look, he wasn’t wrong about this one!

“And what makes you think that it is the case? You said it yourself, clearly everyone knows that Bull and myself are having a fling so what is not to say that I didn’t break his heart? He is the one clearly missing out on this splendid body.”

Warning! Warning! Playful teasing was getting out of control. The gap between the rogue and the mage had shortened. Body language drastically changed from loose and easy to standing tall, chest puffed up. Every telltale signs of macho ground standing. 

“You wanted to run some things by me?” Cullen asked with a sidestep in-between them, facing Dorian in acknowledgment. As soon as the slight grunt was made from behind, it was answered with his heel to the shin of Varric. Shh, not your time to talk. “You have my undivided attention.”

Waiting to see what was going to happen next felt like a lifetime when only it was a couple of seconds before Dorian stepped back, giving an apathetic shoulder shrug. Phew, this situation was bound to come sooner or later but Cullen would have preferred much, much later. When you have that many strong personalities from all different walks of life shoved together, it is inevitable. It was easy enough to diffuse this time but next time, would it be that easy? He was a mage after all and years of training by the chantry could not be instantly switched off just like that. Dorian was a high risk to them all and not just because of his lineage but because he was damn sure he was withholding his full potential from them. If there was the chance that he was going to turn against them… Maker, let hope not because he would put him down. No hesitations.

“As you can see, none of this makes sense. There has to be some reason behind it and yet, I am coming up short,” the mage concluded with a stiff huff. Now it was clear on why he was the way he was. It was all frustration of not being able to solve the puzzle.

“Hey, give me a look at that information,” the merchant piped up, scooting himself in next to him, eyes scanning over the documents. Something about this seemed all too familiar to him from words around the guild, down to his own trail of following the red lyrium that he still blamed himself for being personally responsible for. “There has been a reported amount of Carta activity in the area but nothing that is significant enough to tip the radar… which naturally you wouldn’t want to if you are helping to fund some sort of evil Venatori plot. But this is the Free Marches you are talking about. If there is nothing illegal going on there, you expect it to be a good day.”

“What about the red lyrium trail?”  
“Nah, that shit keeps to the South and thank the Maker for that. If that stuff was a hop, skip and a jump away from those nut-job fanatics in Tevinter, I think we would be hearing about it pretty quick. If I was a betting man and you know that I am, I would bet that they are using the area to camp out and prepare before moving down into the South. There is nothing there of interest.”

“You know as much as you probably don’t want to hear this, he is right,” came the backing from the Commander. “We are stretched for resources since Haven so we can’t just storm our men into the Free Marches and threaten every person in the region from the Imperium with suspicions of being Venatori. I would have thought you would understand that.”

Dorian massages his temples, clearly agitated again. He could only blame himself for thinking that if he broke it down for them that they would be able to get on the same page as he was. Obviously he was giving them too much credit. Fine, perfectly fine. He could explain it out further. “Then for what logical reasoning pray tell, do you see a Duke on one of the few towns left of any influence, suddenly have a Tevinter advisor at his side after all of this Pandora’s box has been opened? And I am not against my countrymen being involved in other countries state of affairs but the Free Marches? Mark my words, there is no logical reason for anyone doing that. It is a place of perdition, the bowel of the land. I would say most people would rather amputate a limb with a rusted blade than live in that shithole.”

“Hey! I used to live in that shithole!” And Varric had every intention to return to it.

He was shut down just as quick with a raised finger and a smug raise of an eyebrow. “And look how that turned out.” Someone blew up the chantry, right? Qunari tried to overrun the place? Yeah, see, vile cesspool. Before the further retort came, the mage was already moving on. “I have already spoken to Vivienne about it and while she tries to distance herself from that place, she has heard reports that Duke Antoine is as corruptible as they come and will do anything to keep himself in a position of power. Now think about that while having a potential Venatori agent whispering in his ear. Now do you see the conundrum?”

“Where abouts did you say this was again in the Free Marches?” the blonde asked, changing his tune.

“Wycome.”

From that moment, everything changed. That light bulb moment where it all clicked that sent the Commander bustling from one side of the room to the other, out the door calling for one of the men standing guard to arrange for the other two advisors with the emphasis on Nightingale to drop whatever she may be doing to join them. As requested Leilana arrived first, the pair turning their backs to the others, whispering it out between themselves, sharing the information that Dorian had brung them. Josephine’s entrance was not as graceful, much more flustered from the run up the stairs, her arms brimming with scrolls. Some they turned from being the instigators of this to merely being spectators as all discussions were kept within the confidant bubble. Nobody wanted to be in that. Shitstorm or not, someone better start talking.

“While I can understand that you wish to keep this business all secret squirrel, might I remind you that we are standing here and not at all deaf,” Dorian stepped up, tired of being shunned. “So might I suggest you start openly sharing.”

Word was going to get out about this eventually. Unanimously they agreed it was better to reduce the collateral from it now and keep it within the confined group rather than letting the rumours spread like wildfire and become corrupted.

“The Inquisitor’s clan is near Wycome.” And that silenced the room, giving everyone a moment to let that sink in. Alleged movement of Venatori in the area, one that had the ruler of the local city in their back pocket. An entire town at their disposal and one vulnerable elven clan left to fend for themselves. The Inquisition had been on a roll as of late, they were winning the battle and it must have had Corypheus up in arms. What better way to hit them where it would hurt the most, take out the ones closest to him.

“We had agents stationed throughout the land to monitor the Lavellan clan,” Leilana continued, filling in the gaps with the information from her area. “While we thought it was peculiar before, we did not give it a second thought due to circumstances we don’t have time to delve into. However, now with this information… let’s just say that we are not heard from these agents for quite some time.” It was an assumption now that the agents were now deceased, however there would be no jumping to conclusions about that.

“There is no doubt that Duke Antoine is out to cover himself and rumour has it that he will do anything to remain in power,” the chief diplomat stepped up with her own input. “It is said that his cousin Bernaldino challenged his power after exposing that the Duke had a closet affair with a young male minstrel. Both Bernaldino and the alleged affair both disappeared without a trace and his wife too contracted a mysterious illness and perished shortly there afterwards. All speculation of course, there was no evidence of any of the claims but these are the issues that we are up again. He has been in power for years and he will not give it up to anyone without a fight.”

“So let me get this straight, what we are saying is that we have a power mad ruler under the influence of an extremist mage, who potentially is threatening the Herald's clan…” Varric drew his own conclusion. “Does someone else smell a trap here?”

“Yeah,” Cullen sighed. “And we played right into it…”

Wait? What does that mean? Did not take long for Dorian to make his own deductions, turning to Cullen, giving him direct eye contact as he was the most easiest to read of the group.

“...Where is the Inquisitor?”

\--------------------------

“Red lyrium? How did this get all the way up here?”

Red lyrium and mages did not mix. Raw lyrium and mages in general did not mix. It was not something that he understood but the power that it had over people was terrible. Cullen was a prime example of that but for mages, it was unpredictable in the state it was in.

Standing a few feet away, the elf rested his chin in his hand, studying the glowing crystal pondering the answer to his own question. Varric did say something that he and his brother originally discovered the substance while they were on an expedition in the Deep Roads which he would have assumed would have been nearby to Kirkwall somewhere. Pretty sure they said that it was mentioned somewhere along the line that it was only found in Southern Thedas. Still didn’t make sense why in a forestry area without any evidence of corruption of the surroundings. The stuff was like an infectious weed that penetrated everything and sucked the life out of it until it had overrun. But this, this was like it was just plonked down… like someone had brought it there…

“We need to get out of here now,” Rilien stated already on the move.

When footsteps were not following, he stopped and waited for her to catch up, assuming her injuries were not fully healed and all of the fast-paced walking was taking its toll. With not even so much as a shuffle, the Herald turned and looked over his shoulder, noting that she was nowhere in eyesight. Shit! Rilien drew his blades, scanning from left to right for any signs of movement. Keepers don’t just disappear like that and when they do, there is something more sinister behind it. With soft footsteps he backtracked, retracing his own. While his senses were not telling him that others where there, his gut did so he was certainly not going to take any chances by calling out. Around the cluster of red lyrium he stalked, trying not to get too close but not to stand out far enough to make him an easy target. Heat resonating from the mineral along with the overcast surroundings brought on a sweat. There was only so much he could endure of it, beads of salty droplets collecting on his long lashes and dispersing into his eyes every time he blinked. In a vicious cycle, his eyes watered more to flush out the toxin which in return brought more down into it. As much as he did not want to pause for long enough to potentially be attacked, he was no use if he could not see them coming regardless. Using the back of his sleeve, still with his dagger firmly clenched in his hand, Rilien wiped his eyes. Immediately his eyes thanked him, eyesight returning with a couple more clear blinks now that he was able to. Only that he did not expect the haze to open up to this.

“This day could not get any worse,” he muttered under his breath.

Good news is that he found Deshanna, the bad news is that she was being restrained by a very robust qunari. The way the large muscular arm wrapped around her petite neck, the gigantic hand smothering her mouth to stop her from alerting him looked the same as a large snake smothering its prey to subdue it. If she was there and captured then that would mean they had a partner waiting to swoop in. Crap. Was it too late to hold his arms up in the air to surrender?

An all too familiar haze hit him suddenly causing him to stumble forward a few steps. It had not been a blow to the head from behind which would have been the way he would have thought he would have been incapacitated. There wa no pain from this. That knockout powder. The same stuff that the assassin girl had used on him. Great, just great. High probability that these were her friends and this time he highly anticipated not to be waking up in a puddle of urine. Good chance it would not be at all. He could feel himself slipping. Desperately he clung to his weapons ready to attack anyone who tried to get close. Down to his knees he dropped, the left dagger falling from his grasp. Tighter he held on to the other one that remained. This rogue was not going down without a fight.

There one minute and completely gone the next. It was the oddest sensation feeling yourself falling for the darkness and then coming out of it like someone had slapped some sense into you. Your Inquisitor is back! Full attention and alert! Deshanna to the rescue with some crazy voodoo magic that he did not care to understand right now but it worked! So well that the hairs on his neck stood on end from the resonance of the powerful magic that had been cast, the charge strong enough to knock the towering qunari warrior onto his belly where she continued to restrain him with further multiple blows.

“Aye, I don’t need a staff to be casting magic,” the elder elf goaded.

Staffs were something that the population used to identify mages and yes, they did hold a practical use. Not only did they make excellent devices to assist and rest against during long treks but they also were used to channel and focus magic into a concentrated area which usually resulted in a much more powerful blow. They had become so synonymous with mages that it was a natural assumption that they were required to perform the sacred art. Most of the time, his keeper used hers to give a stiff walloping when you were caught misbehaving so snapping hers in two, was not at all hindering the grandeur of her power. Her power, something Rilien was awestruck by. Never had he seen her like this. Whenever she drew from her mana, it would be to tend to the wounds of that foolish ones that was dared to jump off the waterfall and miscalculate to break bones or not paying attention while skinning the pelt from an animal and accidentally sticking the blade into their tummy. Gee, someone really needed to get the full story on this secret life she lived prior to joining them because from this, it looked to have been exciting. For her to use her magic on the offensive and to be that powerful, he was speechless.

That would not last for too long, yelling out for her to “look out” when another burly qunari smothered her from behind. Wildly kicking and thrashing about she tried to break free, taking a few pot shots at his feet. One stray blast connected, loosening the grip. What was thought to have been her chance to make the escape turned radically against her by the brunt force against her limb. 

“Can’t make magic if you have nothing to cast it,” the qunari smirked, taking great enjoyment from the loud wails brought on by the snapping of her arm.

Those cries of anguish were enough to cloud his judgement, rushing towards the second attacker with his dagger raised. Using his own momentum against him, the elf was clotheslined by the first attacker and forcefully slammed backwards into one of the protruding lyrium crystals. Next came the muffled cries of his own, top teeth biting deep into his lip. What he thought was the warmth of the lyrium burning into his back, quickly turned to the realization that it was the blood seeping out of the wounded collar bone. The dagger in his hand was now embedded straight through him, pinning him in place.

“S-She just fixed that,” Rilien stammered through gritted teeth.

He had to be strong. Not just to stick it to these assholes but to help the other through it. The elder woman was collapsed on her knees, gingerly supporting the warped limb, choking back her own sobs. Even if she wanted to run, she could not get far with the brute’s hold on her neck preventing her from moving or even curling up into a ball. Bet one wrong move and he would take to snapping her like a twig.

“Deshanna…” called out the younger elf, swallowing hard to fight off the pain. “We are going to get out of this.”

A ray of hope? A defiant slap back to their capturers? “Just because we are about to die Da'len, it still doesn’t give you a reason to be so informal.” Nope, the Lavellan’s knew they were fucked.

Dead silence for a few moments, even the two qunari were trying to work out if that was some sort of secret code or not. The two exchanged glances, the redhead smugly grinning, the fiery copper just snorted and then they broke out into a chortle that progressed to full blown laughter. They were up shit creek without a paddle and they weren’t just keeping afloat. There was a hole in that boat and the shit was flooding in and there was no way out. Best they could do was fall into the shit, try and keep afloat for a while until they could not tread any more and then it would drown them. Drowning while surrounded by fecal matter, that doesn’t sound like a very pleasant way to go at all. Very grotty. Good thing that is only a metaphor and all they had was sharp pointy weapons at the worst to kill them.

Apparently their laughs of despair were not appreciated, each one of them getting a punishing blow and a threat to knock it off. Both of them tried to recover in their own way, the rogue coughing and wheezing from the gut shot he received but man, it was worth it. “Hey assholes, if you are going to kill us… just hurry up. I’m worried… about the long term… effect on my health… from this… lyrium.” Reaffirmed by a well timed cough brought on by the scratching in his throat and the heaviness of his chest, sadly not faked for drama purposes. “It grows through your body, you see. Makes you look like shit, although… that could be an improvement… for you. Speaking of, how did you lose your horns? Was it… the Qun? You pissed off the Qun… oh that murderous look in your eyes says… yes.”

There was no game plan to what he was doing, no strategic escape. He did manage to tick off the qunari with his jabbering enough that he was gripped around the throat, that familiar pressure as it constricted him. Choked to death, who would have thought. This time the foe was well doubled his size and had the strength of four wild bears which meant any kicking and flailing were falling short. His head felt like it was about to explode, the pressure against his neck and spine grew heavier. Were these people trained to go for the shoulders and throat? Take out a leg or something! Originality dammit! Clearly he had the strength to end it right there but there was that slight hesitation to his actions. It was like he was waiting for something...

“Vadat!” And there it was. The what was presumably a command barked left Rilien with the ability to breathe again between the coughing gasps. “Reliquissent, ut ad me.” Clearly these were the mercenaries that they had been encountering all along the way. Looks like he was finally going to get the chance to meet the ones behind it all. 

A hooded figure approached him slowly, dipping down along the way, picking up the dagger that he had dropped. The voice was female, promoted by the slender, well manicured fingers tracing up the thick part of the blade up to the tip. 

“Nunc mihi dies quam expectabamus invenimus.”

Rilien looked between the two hired thugs and then backed to oh mysterious one and then back to the men again. “Can I ask? Do you understand a word she is saying?” It was a legitimate question. Clearly there was a communication boundary between them. Sure, they both reacted to the big angry pants growl but for the rest of it, they looked perplex.

“We aren’t paid to understand,” Number two replied from off over in his corner.  
“Yeah… yeah, that is what I thought.” So these guys were the hired hands and this was the boss. They seemed pretty eager to answer the first question so maybe if he tried them on another? “So what language is she speaking? Tevene? Antivan? Sounds exotic.”

Turns out that big boss lady was not at all a fan of all of the questions, a nod to her helper had him quickly silenced by a hand over his mouth, smothering him. Not that Rilien took that as a threat enough, still trying to muffle talk underneath, drawing in whatever oxygen he could get from between the gaps in his fingers. That defiance, that cocky retort, all of that stopped as soon as the hood was removed and her identity was revealed.

Alluring dirty blonde hair, captivating complexion and to top it off, those long pointy ears. At first he thought he was hallucinating from blood loss. Lilac eyes widened in disbelief, looking for something, anything to disprove what he was seeing. His body shook in fear, much to her enjoyment. He did not have to say anything, it was clearly written all over his face. This was not possible. He had killed her!

“Iam intelleges quid sentit sicut,” the assassin scowled with the narrowing of her brow as she brought the dagger back and then plunged it into his shoulder. There was no brute force of a qunari behind it, the blade only penetrating a couple of centimetres deep but that did not mean that intense pain could not be inflicted. This time he did cry out into the large hand holding him back. But it did not stop there. “Faciamque te clamamus” she growled, twisting the blade ever so slowly. 

She took the greatest of enjoyments from the screams it earned her. Any time she thought that it was dying down she would twist it again, ripping through flesh, spilling more blood. What seemed like a lifetime she continued to callously draw out his pain, whenever his body wanted to shut down, she would wake it up. In the end, there was only so much it could take.

With her callous desires somewhat fulfilled, the blonde ripped the dagger out of his shoulder and gave the qunari a silent nod, allowing him to release the hold on him. Sadly, that hold was the only thing keeping him upright. Half of his body slumping down with only the blade pinning him in place and even that was starting to slice through with the additional weight. There would be no saving him this time, no miraculous event that will see him get the upper hand or someone swooping in to save the day. The run of luck had to come to an end.

There was not even enough strength in his body to move his head, only his eyes shifting over to his keeper, checking if she was still alive. Alive and as well as could be. Just seeing that matriarchal look of concern she had was enough to bring him to tears. “I’m… sorry,” the young elf whispered between the struggling tears. “And thank you… for believing… in me.”

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that Da’len!” the keeper retorted, squirming under the captor’s hold with a second wind burst. “Let me heal him. I beg of you. Do whatever you want to do to me but…” And that was the end of her pleading, timed with a smack to the head that downed her to the ground instantly, out for the count.

Nothing, nothing at all he could do to stop them. Even blinking was becoming an effort. All colour had drained from the ground he was staring at, most of the noise fading into the distance.There was some chatter, most of it he could not make out. If there was some way he knew how to say ‘go die in a fire’ in elven, he would have took that chance as his parting words, except all he could do was making a gurgling noise.

“Aliquis certe videtur melius diebus. Est ille mortuus est?” The voice this time, while still feminine, was different, less aggressive and more serene. A pair of shoes stepped into his view, a bend finger hooked under his chin, raising his head up to look at them. Just a blur. He couldn’t make anything out at all. “You have no idea how long I have been waiting for this.”

Her motions were much more of the opposite fashion. Tender, almost caring. Softly she stroked his cheek and then turned her attention down to his wound, collecting some of his blood on the tip of her finger with a compassionate touch. Again her hand returned to his face, dotting the ruby mark on his cupid’s bow, trailing it down over his lips. The gentle kiss was something he would not have expected and had no power to even try to resist. A few moments later she pulled away with a groan, taking one last lick across the blood smeared lips, obviously satisfied with herself.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” she spoke in a hushed voice, moving over to his ear, whispering so only he could hear it. “You can’t die just yet. Your pain has only just begun… Inquisitor.”


	12. Chapter 12

“Andraste, pray for us all.”

Just when they had thought they had almost seen it all, there was another grim sight waiting for them. This time it was in the form of a shallow grave, piled with approximately eight corpses. Why it was approximate? Not all of them were intact, two people could have been one with the way their bodies were callously disassembled.

“This is too clean for a wild animal. This one too. That one over there I would say was something’s chew toy after it was deceased before something or someone sent it scampering off.”

Innards spilling out of the gaping hole in their belly, the lower leg popped off at the knee cap and was probably taken in the hasty exit. A good portion of the thigh has been gnawed at, leaving the remainder looking like it was the leftovers from a great feast. And that was only the beginning. Sounds of the flies droning around the putrid bodies, the maggots squirming in the exposed festering organs. Moisture from the humidity of the region made it the perfect breeding ground and given the approximate time those bodies have been laying there, they were riddled.

For some it was too much to bear, one of the scouts lurching forward and vomiting onto his shoes.

“Aww what's the matter. Can’t take a little dismemberment?” goaded the nearby voice. “You know a qunari could do with enough force,” they continued to explain, waving around a comic looking hunk of flesh and bone with the way the rounded joint was exposed. “Get a blade down in there deep enough, saw through enough muscle and sinew and then grab the limb and tear it back so it rips it clean out of the socket. Whatever its left, you just shear it off and…”

This time the shoes were not the only things covered in the contents of his stomach as too were the rest of his clothes with projectile vomiting hit him without warning, drenching the front of his jacket and shirt with the undigested food of the past few hours. Covering himself almost to head to toe with bodily fluids might have been the tip off to stop, however, the man was taking great enjoyment out of it with the continual provocation to see how long he would last. Let's connect the pieces of the meat puzzle together and see if we can make a new person?

“Bull! That is enough!”

Barking commands were enough to stop everyone in their tracks, all eyes widened, stunned at who was behind it. Better yet, the burly qunari actually listened and shut his mouth. Whenever he tried to open his mouth for a retort, it was met with a steeled glare that shut him back down again. Even the remainder of the Inquisition scouts weren’t brave enough to speak. The commander, the spymaster, that is the type of reaction they could expect from them but the Tevinter mage? This was far from the sharp-tongued, egotistical asshole they had drawn assumptions about. Had he taken an offensive stance with that tone then there would have seen many weapons quickly drawn against him given his ‘dangerous’ birthright.  
.  
All of them watched carefully on what his next reaction would be, stunned once again as an uncharacteristic guiding arm behind the back lead the scout away. Not even one complaint or quip about having to step over the puddle of puke. This was the same man who would cry to anyone who would listen about having his pampered life removed from him and expected the Inquisition to continue to fund the lavish life he was accustomed to. Once the pair were out of earshot, the remaining group looked at each other, Iron Bull included, and shrugged. Maybe the humidity had frazzled his brain?

Death, an unfortunate event in life. Something that almost everyone would experience at one point, being it from a loved one expiring in their sleep to someone seen on a battlefield where the outcome is that only one would survive. Sure, he himself had been guilty of taking the lighthearted road of looking at it but never was he disrespectful of the dead.

“How on Maker’s green grass does anybody get used to this?” the young man asked after being seated by the trunk of a tree.

“You don’t,” Dorian replied, giving his own input into the subject. “You try to deal the best way you can and if throwing up helps then, throwing up it is.” Besides he couldn’t tell him to suck it up because he too had said goodbye to meals with near-on decapitations. “It is when you become numb to it all, that is when you start to worry.” A cup was passed down to him filled with freshly poured tea. Not that it was warm, it was long since past that point. “I hear this it is good for an upset stomach.” Cullen must have known something like this would occur so he sent him prepared.

After he was thanked for the beverage, the mage took a couple of steps away and turns his back to him to give him some breathing room. From the gagging, gargling and spitting, he couldn’t be too sure what tasted worse. The remnants of the foul taste in his mouth or the new taste he was putting into it. Setting stomach did not mean minty fresh.

“I completely misjudged you,” the scout spoke up, feeling a lot better than he did a few minutes ago.

An apology? That is something that was foreign to his ears. Some people may have been humble. No, no, no, you don’t need to apologize for anything, it happens. But not this man. Oh he relished in the thought that he proved someone wrong, making him superior. “I am not going to wipe you clean. I do have my limits.”

That earned him a chuckle. “I don’t even want to wipe myself clean. If there is a river around here that isn’t stagnant, then I am planning on jumping into it.” And he was feeling a lot better now, rising back to his feet but still clutching the cup. “There has been rumours that you were training the younger mages that took shelter at Skyhold, teaching them how to refine their skills. People are worried that you are training them up to lead some rebellion against the Inquisition in the name of Tevinter. They still think you are a Venatori spy.”

Couldn’t say that he was surprised by that. Nothing like having a second pair of eyes following you everywhere you went. All he needed to do was grow his soul patch into a full van dyke and adopt an evil cackle and people will believe he is the most evil magister to grace history. Corypheus would be a saint compared to him! This wicked magister is clearly more ravishing.

“And because I gave you a cup of tea, your opinion has changed about me? It doesn’t even taste good.”

“Nightingale would not be happy if I gave away too much more.” Already he had disclosed that they were actively monitoring him and even that would have been a reprimand if she found out. “You are not so much of a pompous ass that you make yourself out to be. We see those moments. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. I’m pretty good with keeping secrets… except for that last one. And I would appreciate you didn’t tell Leliana. I would rather endure the wrath of an ogre than anything she would handle out.” Stupidly he swigged the last mouthful of tea, coughed and handed back the cup. “You are right. Tastes like dung but it did the job.”

Sure, don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. That is what modest people might say. “So does that mean I can count on you for certain hard to get acquisitions without questions asked?” Or he could capitalize on this and get himself some luxuries that he had been sorely missing. “In the fairness of keeping things quiet and since I am clearly not going to do anything nefarious with them.”

A playful chuckle and a hefty grin. That was a positive response. “Can’t guarantee it but come to me when you need something and I will try my best to make it happen. But fair warning, if it is something that can be used for purposes that are not of a good-natured intent, I will have to report you, Mr Pavus.”

“Fair call,” Dorian agreed holding his hand out to shake on it. Something about a handshake in a business deal says formality and binding. This was not idle chit chat now, it was connection making. The other shook reciprocating the deal. “And don’t call me Mr. Pavus. I am not my father.”

“Evil Magistar Pavus?”  
“Much better.”  
“Can I join in with this bonding moment you have going on? How about we all put our hands up in a high five?”

Heads turned followed suddenly by the sounds of dry retching. Oh there was a hand up in the air waiting for one of them to give it a hefty slap. Just that it was not attached to the one holding it up.

“Don’t worry, it’s pretty stiff. It will take a good wallop on the palm and won’t snap.” Bull gave a demonstration with a slap of his own against the rotting one. “Come on, give it a try.”

Faster than you can say “Andraste’s knickers” the scout was up and out of there, much to the qunari’s enjoyment. “Hey, come back! We could have have a threesome together!” he called out, still waving the hand around but he was out of earshot pretty quickly but there still one that was with him, looking down at the hand and then at Dorian. “Or would that have been a foursome with this thing? I mean, look at this strapping thing. Whoever this came from was a brute. Imagine how sturdy that would feel jerking you off and it’s not going to get tired.”

“Bull, really?” the mage questioned with eyebrow raised. He got it. Everyone deals with death and dismemberment their own way but this was going a bit too extreme. “Drawing the line at necrophilia.”

“Just trying to lighten the mood a little,” the big man confessed, not yet relinquishing the hold on the limb, just moving it out of direct line of sight. “It is like every person here has been told that someone shit in their breakfast, after their mother died. Even you are pissier than usual. Are you okay? Want to talk about it?”

The lug had a heart of gold when he wanted to. Anyone watching him interact with the Chargers would tell you that. They should have been thanking him for trying to break up the somber air that was following them around. “Everyone is anxious. The key to winning the battle that could stop Thedas from being destroyed, is missing in action. Without him, who knows what lies in store for us.” And yes, he did skip over the rest of that question on purpose and no, no he did not want to talk about it.

“That is exactly why I am here. I have found something.”

Once again the severed arm was back out and waved around, much to Dorian’s perplexity. And here he thought he was dragging it around to gross people out. Apparently it held the secret to something major. When he didn’t spit it out, he was given a condescending shrug of his shoulders and a tilt of his head. Not in the mood for some sort of guessing game.

Tattoos. Tattoos! That was his big reveal. He found a part of an arm that was covered with tattoos. This was his groundbreaking news that was going to solve the genocide of the Dalish clan and the disappearance of their beloved Inquisitor.

“I don’t get it,” Dorian muttered, still trying to draw a conclusion on what he was told. “Anyone can have tattoos. That isn’t proving much.”

“They do if some of them are not obtain by choice,” Bull mused knowing he was the only one who seemed to understand the extent of what these tattoos meant.

Poor privilege Vint, not at all accustomed to what it is really like out there. One by one he explained them. The one near the thumb with the five dots, a self representation that they had been on the inside so it is not something they were not trying to hide. Not to mention the assortment of gang tattoos. Now they could be out of place because there is not one that pinpointed to a simple alliance but spread across a few, ones that he could all name but he had his theory about that too. Naturally he expected the retort. They could have meant anything. The original owner of the arm could have been emulating something he strangely admired or had no idea what junk he was slapping on his body. All very valid points however, there was a huge tip that gave it away.

“He is branded on his wrist, the mark has been burned into his flesh. It’s a common practice in the south not only take away the liberties of someone by tossing them into prison but to mark their skin up so people will forever know what they had done.” Bull flipped the arm over and shoved it up into Dorian’s face, pointing at the scaring at his wrist, pointing out all of the charges as he worked his way upwards. “Petty theft, assault, robbery. The worse the crime, the more dominate the branding is. Throw in some rape, murder and that shit is left all over their faces.”

“Very well, he has spent time incarcerated,” came the agreement from the man, pushing the offensive arm away from his line of sight. “Why does that play any importance?”

“Soldiers of Wycome, city protectors. Isn’t that what we were told attacked the Dalish out here? This is a criminal. I know that in a frenzy, some people can make stupid decisions but come on, no one is going to be that desperate to conscribe someone who had done time especially since they clearly sent in a shitload of their own men to take care of the job,” the qunari mused, tossing the arm over his shoulder, no longer required as the point has been proven. Oh you bet there was a smug smirk across his lips, clearly enjoying the fact that he was victorious over a Tevinter. Not just a dumb brute after all. “That arm was once attached to a mercenary.”

A mercenary? That makes no sense. There was clearly enough troops sent in to decimate the entire clan and with a high chance of reserves being left to defend the city in case of retaliation so it was not a manpower issue. That left out the weasel of a Duke hiring them as thugs on his behalf. “Maybe the Venatori responsible for this hired them? Using the guise of the panic from this elf plague they thought they were experiencing, they sent mercenaries in with the main troops to find the Inquisitor and…”

“Kidnap? Maim? Torture? Murder? Probably in that order.” Good to see that Dorian was in the same page as him. “If he is still alive that is. However by the time they have finished with him then I can guarantee he is going to wish he was dead.”

\--------------------------

Kidnap. That box was ticked off. Trapped in a dark area, unsure of how long he had been there or better yet, where ‘there’ was. Maim. Deep laceration spanning from his forehead and into his hairline that dribbled thickening blood onto terrain below him, if not treated, would certainly leave a permanent mark. How that got there, another mystery to add to the collection, coming to not that long ago. What was to come next, he couldn’t be sure if it constituted as torture but it was the situation he found himself in. Stripped down to his underclothes, strung up by his feet and bound at the wrists. Don’t get caught in your own hunting traps otherwise if you are left hanging upside down for long enough, you will die. However long he had been up there was enough to cause deep pounding pressure against his temples, making his head feel like it was going to explode. Hanging around to find out how long his mortality timer would be was not going to be the agenda for the day. Escaping would be in order.

Looked like his return to the wake land had gone unnoticed by anyone and that he had to capitalize on. Fast. Ropes squeaked as he contracted his core and arched his back, using all of the power that he could muster from his exhausted body to gain the momentum to create a swinging motion. There was a small glimmer of hope he was working with, praying that the restraints were frail and with enough friction a couple of the threads may snap, letting his body weight do the rest. Could he have been lucky enough that something sharp was left within swinging distance reach? Even if there was, he couldn’t see it. His own heightened eyesight hindered by pops of purple in front of his eyes, still not recovered from whatever blow to the head he took. Back to the original plan is was. Thrash around until something gave way.

Additional noise grabbed some unwanted attention, suddenly halted by stiff jab just below the base of his rib cage. Short-winded and gasping, he refused to give up the fight, blindly grabbing until he caught some fabric. Again it was rejected this time by a large boot into his face, hands relinquishing the hold straight away, knocking him out again for a couple of minutes.

To repeat the previous scenario or to play it safe? This time the elf decided to take the cautious route, slowly cracking his eyes open to survey. His focus was on the candles that were being lit around the area, watching the way the flames danced. To the left, leading behind him. That was where the way out was, more than likely to a larger area with how dark it was down there and not to freedom. As for the rest of the area… that would be something he would have to investigate another time as he was there once again coughing and winded from another body blow. Son of a-... he was really discreet that time!

“There are other parts of my body, you know,” the battled elf whimpered. “Explore your options.”

Well, tough crowd we have here. Nothing but dead air. Wait, silence, gut checks. If this towering figure was missing his horns and… there it was. No wonder. Now he remembered him, actually it was the last thing he remembered clearly. The qunari that was so kind to put the dagger through his shoulder, which now that he thought about it, felt in much better than it was before. Either he had been out of it for a very long time or else there had been some magical intervention to restore it back to its former state. Which lead to his next question. “Where is my Keeper?”

Hello silence my old friend. How he was loathing that void. First the assassin and now him. Well the assassin that he presumed to have killed finally spoke up and it was in a language that he had no idea how to translate so that put him essentially back into the same position. All he wanted was some answers, a light conversation. Heck, at this point it would take verbal threats. Was this a form of psychological torture? If that is what it was, it was certainly working. Only response he was getting was in the form of physical beatings, their own special attempt at shutting him down. He wasn’t deaf, that's for sure as he has taken on the previous feedback. Still did not explain why he was not talking which only agitated him further. “Why doesn’t anybody talk around here!?”

“You see, he is quite unwell. Caught the sickness. Otherwise he is quite the chatter.”

Down in front of him the new male squatted, a human and quite an attractive one at that. Same wavy and slightly curled brunette locks that reminded him of his commander but slimmer, more defined cheeks and chin. His deep hazel eyes looked on at him kindly and the brief turning up at the corner of his lips that he gave, would certainly capture anyone under a spell. “You know how it is.” And that voice. Deep, alluring, in a tone he has not heard of before. Every word uttered sounded like absolute sex to his ears. Whoever this man was, had it been under different circumstances, the young elf would have took a second look without hesitation.

Rugged hands reached out and cupped his face when he didn’t respond, turning his head from side to side. “How many times did you smack him in the head?” What was those things all over his muscular arms? Different colour pigments along the full length of both of his arms that sort of resembled the vallaslin except they were pictures. Fascinating. Was this a custom of another land or something else? “He looks out of it. Hey! Do you have a concussion? Do you feel yourself slipping in and out of consciousness?”

“If I said yes, will you let me down?”

He look the hearty chuckle he got as a “no”. Rising up to his feet, he went over to Mister Hornless and had a quiet word in his ear. One that was not really well received as the larger man started to growl, puffing his chest up in protest. Whoever this new person was, he seemed to be further up the food chain, able to shut him down with only a few out of earshot words and gestures, sending the snarling man out of the area.

“How about answering my other question then?” Rilien tried his luck once everything had settled down and they were alone. Something about this guy felt different. It could have been he was the only one that had not tried to grievously hurt him on sight.

“Your Keeper? Was that you were asking about?” he questioned, taking back to the crouching position. It was easier to have a conversation near his face than his crotch. “If you are talking about that one that you were found with then she is currently…” The pause came are completely the inappropriate time, unnecessarily building the tension. “...indisposed”

“What does that mean?” growled the Inquisitor, thrashing back and forth agitated. “She better not be dead! Otherwise…” 

Cold metal pressed against his throat and all resistance ceased, the position of power shown. “Do you really think you are in the position to threaten me?” asked the amused brunette. Pressure was applied, only just slightly to the edge of the blade, allowing it to break the first couple of layers of skin. “I can slit your throat and bleed you out like an animal right here and now.” One rash move could see the faint line of red tainting the blade become a steady stream. But for some reason it did not proceed any further than that, the knife was placed into a pouch strapped to his leg. “But that is not going to help anyone now will it?” What was even more perplexing was that he removed his shirt and wiped down the gash, leaving the confined man with quite the view of his upside down ample physique. “She’s not dead but she ain't here.” 

“Well where is she?”  
“Don’t get paid to know where people are.”

Rilien couldn’t resist a snort after hearing that. “That seems to be a common response.”

He got it. These guys were paid by someone to grab him and they didn’t like to discuss anything that pertained to their client. They did their job and then would move onto the next, filling in for whatever thuggery they were required for. Didn’t explain why this guy was treating him with a bit more respect than the other one so far. Even went to the lengths to start tending to his forehead wound, muttering something about him needing stitches. “He is holding a grudge against you. One of the team that you killed, that was his friend so he is feeling the need to take that out against you.”

“And you? You are all part of the same team aren’t you?”

“Technically yes but I try not to get involved with personal affairs. Tends to complicate things.” Standing back up, the man pulls his shirt back on, uncaring that it was patchy with the elf’s blood. “I’m just in it for the money. Times are tough out there and sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. We aren’t all monsters.”

We aren’t all monsters… those words resonated with him. All of his actions of recent, had they been all of necessity? Was there any other way he get around the heinous things he had done, essentially crimes by any other reasoning except justified by the impending destruction of their land. It had to be done, the only way they could ensure the progression to end all of it. What was he doing any different to what this man was doing? When you stood back and looked at it, they were the same.

“We were told that we couldn’t kill you but...” Again with that tension building pause. It was enough to make Rilien’s eyes widened and his entire body stiff. Sounds of the approaching footsteps of not one but two people came their way. What was going on? “...the others translated that to, they could do whatever they wanted to you, even leave you in a near-death state.” 

The returning qunari was not alone, this time with another, one that he recognized as the one that broke Deshanna’s arm. The pair looming over the top of him brought him into a state of panic. Cornered, the fight or flight instinct kicked in and his was to fight. His offense came to an end swiftly, stars coming back after his only main of attack was to headbutt anything that came close and that was a large, grimly hard kneecap.

Just like he had with the qunari earlier, the man kneeled down to his ear level and leaned in to whisper. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t keep them away for long. Try not to fight it. Without the struggle, they will lose enjoyment and move on.”

Rilien was perplexed to why this guy was helping him. So confused that he continued to stare into those dark eyes as he pulled back, trying his best to read his intentions. Was he really trying to help him out? Lure him into some false sense of security where he thought he could gain his trust by appearing to be on his side? There was nothing for him to gain out of it if he was aiming for the second option. There was absolutely nothing. Maybe it was due to the emotional strain he had been suppressing, maybe it was because of his naive nature but he wanted to believe in his words. Deeply exhaling, he closed his eyes, relaxing everything the best he could.

“Whoever it is I killed…” His eyes reopened and a wide cheeky smirk spread across his lips. “I hope they suffered.”

Yeah, fuck you. Fighter until the end. He would not go down that easily.

\--------------------------

“They never stood a chance.”

All of the carnage he had saw leading up to this point was brutal but now that he was there, at ground zero, there was no words. Those who lost their life outside were their warriors, their fighters, ones that swore to protect those in their little travelling community with their lives. They died valiantly. Some of them even took down the enemy with them. While the sight was macabre, it could still be stomached.

“They are just children.”

Enemy soldiers marching through, terrorising, bailing up who they can. These unsuspecting young babes that would have been frightened, unaware of what was waiting for them. Adults would have tried to do the talking, trying to find a peaceful resolution to whatever their issue was. They would not have been expecting the hysteria they were under. Some of them tried to run presumably after the killing started, shot down with arrows. Some were chased, bludgeoned, hacked at. But all of the children, they never deserved a fate like this.

He couldn’t leave them as they were. Already their bodies had started the process of decomposition, escalated from elemental exposure. Like many others, stray animals big and small had fed on them. Birds picking at their flesh like criminals locked in outside cages as part of their punishment. They did not deserve the same fate. Nearby was a large boat shaped carriage that he looked into, finding some blankets. Returning, a silent prayer was said as he covered over their bodies. It may not have been the pantheon that the elves worshipped, instead the Maker that gave him hope would have to be the one to guide them forward to whatever was waiting for them.

By this point, it felt like they were walking around in circles. No survivors, no sign of the Inquisitor. Besides a severed arm, they were basically pissing in the wind. What were they missing? Okay, it was ludicrous to believe that they would just waltz in there without a clue, snap their fingers and solve the mystery of Wycome. That wasn’t the point. The point was that something was unsettling about all of this. Even his own initial assumption of Venatori involvement was up in the air.

Venatori were significant users of the craft. If there was one thing that Magisters did well, that was pulling out their staffs and waving them wildly around in front of everyone to put them in awe. That being the case, why were most of the magical elements missing? No matter how much you tried to mask your craft, there would always be remnants left behind. Most commonly found was scorch marks in the grass or ice that would not melt despite the hot temperature. Telltale signs like that were obvious to even those who were not blessed with talent. For those who were, you could feel it around you. Hairs on the back of your arm and neck would stand on end, the air density slightly thicker. Tiny tears in the veil left a lingering fallout that would not dissipate no matter how much you tried to. Not everyone that fought among the ranks of the Tevinter rebels had the ability to use. Those were mainly slaves that were forced to fight as brute enforcers. The possibility of them being sent through as a sweep team was plausible, however none of the found corpses had been shackled, knocking that idea out of contention.

The only source he had been able to track down was in front of him, face down into a shallow body of murky brown water. A deep slash that tore across their back looked to be what took the elf down. If that was what killed them, Dorian highly had his doubts especially with the clumps of clay in the matted hair on the back of their head.

Grabbing the limp frame by the feet, he dragged it out of the water and rolled them over, mentally not prepared for what he was about to see. There was not even time to bolt away, turning his head away just in time not to throw up bile all over the poor deceased elf’s body. His skin looked almost gelatinous from how long he must have been laying in there, the iris of his eyes completely clouded over and voided from all colour. Every time he tried to turn his head back towards him, the nausea would resurface and he would have to move away again. He couldn’t do it.

Some time had passed since he had stepped away from the deceased, taking up to sitting on a log but still focused on the body. After eating some sweet bread to replenish what he had lost and drinking the last of Cullen’s stone cold awful tea to get his strength back up, he was ready for take two. Slowly he re-approached with the mantra “You need to do this for the Inquisitor” as his driving force. A slight gag, covering his nose and mouth while he knelt down, still keeping his composure enough to make a mental note to make sure he is reimbursed for the stained pants. They were not cheap and by the time they returned to Skyhold, the mud would not be coming out.

Theoretically, much stressing on the theoretic part, he should temporarily be able to sustain the life of this Dalish apostate with the use of his own magic and any remnants of what was left in other one’s aura. Wouldn’t be much considering how long he has been dead for but a little bit of something is better than absolutely nothing. If it failed then nothing gained, nothing lost.

Preparing both himself and the body the best that he could, the mage took in a long, deep breath and closed his eyes so he could focus. What was supposed to be calming had the opposite effect, his hand shaking while he lowered it down towards the elf’s chest. Memories of the Storm Coast came turbulently flooding back. Memories of holding Rilien in his arms, the lithe frame chilled to the bone, fallen ill to the effects of magic. That utmost despair he felt he thought he had stopped breathing. Maker, how he was terrified he was going to lose him that day and in the sense, he did. 

_Just the same as him.  
It’s not the same._

"That fine whiskey hue almost unrecognizable. Pale, clammy, tainted blue."

 _Just like him.  
Get it together Pavus, this is not the same!_

"A stiff slap to wake him up, shoved and shaken by the shoulders. No breathe, chest still."

_Slipping away from you once again.  
I’m not going to let him go this easily!_

"His chest rises with every breath I give him, none of them stay. A fist relentlessly pounds into his breast, continuing even after the sickening crack of bones. Can’t give up. Will not give up! Anything to make it beat again."

_Nothing you can do will reverse what happened._

"No hope. Crimson swirling, mixing with translucent. It was never meant to happen like this."

_I would never have…_

"One final message in the palm of my hand. It is all I have left of him. Anguish, sorrow, torment. Across the room, full of hate. Those words, I never want to see again. How dare you do this to me?"

_I didn’t want this!_

“It is not your fault.” A gentle hand rested on his shoulder giving a few pats. Childlike, innocent, their own branded attempt of support.

“Not now Cole,” Dorian voiced meekly, turning his head away. “This is… this is not the time.”

Rising to his feet, he moved the young spirit’s hand away. Nobody knew. Nobody knew because he did not want them to, this pain was his burden. His mistake lead to this. History was repeating itself and once again, he was going to be the one to come in one step too late.

“It hurts. You want it to stop but you can’t let it go. You _don’t_ want to let it go. He wanted to love you.” 

So naive, everything was not as simple as he made it sound. This was no black and white. He spent his life hiding who he was and when it finally came out, everything went to shit. “Cole, please,” he pleaded once again, his tone borderline on desperation.

“He would have said yes.”  
“COLE!”

Never had he heard the mage invoke so much anger, the growl in his tone shocked him as much as it did the young man who stared up at him in fear. His hands jittered uncontrollably, breathing slightly laboured and his heartbeat out of control from the surge of the adrenaline hit from the outburst. It was a fine balance between wanting to lash out or wanting to break down. Whatever he said next would determine which way it would go.

“I-I found something you might want to see,” he stammered scolded, staring up doe-eyed trying to correct his error.

His reaction worked, releasing the grasp on him and patting him on the shoulder. They were good. Everything was good. He was confused when he was lead back to the tattered sailed land vessels he had seen before, expressed by the cocking of his head to the side. When he still couldn’t work it out, the spirit returned with a gift and placed it into his hands.

Okay, still wasn’t adding up. He had been gifted with what appeared to be a weathered leather bound book, secured with a bow made from same hide. What an odd thing for them to be keeping a hold of. Correct him if he was wrong but he thought that the elves did not have physical recorded history which is why they struggled to keep their identity. Well for whatever reason Cole believed it to be something of importance so he would play along for the time being. 

After untying the bow, a few pages where flicked through using his thumb, stopping a little way in to scan over the contents. “Is this a journal?” he asked, wrinkling his brow at the oddity. “Seriously, who keeps a journal these days? I haven’t had one of these since I was ten years old.”

When he was instructed to turn to the last pages, he was reluctant to do so. He wasn’t against snooping into the deep and private thoughts of an individual, who knows that juicy things they were writing about. People’s innermost desires sprawled out on the page for him to swoop up and trawl though. How scandalous. Right now, it was a time waster. Begrudgingly, the mage did what he was told, skipping to the last couple of pages until he found what be believed to be the last entry. What a joke.

“Dear diary,” he embellished because of course every journal entry had to be started like that. “Tomorrow I set off for the conclave…” And with that, all joking stopped. “This is the Inquisitor’s…” Words were skimmed over but the context was still obtained. He spoke about being chosen for this task, to spy on the meeting on behalf of their clan. Everything that was entrusted to him to carry out was here, right in front of him. “This is the first time I have been away from them. I can only hope I do them proud.”

Shit. He had no idea. Lets face it, everyone that offered their services to the Inquisition were not really into finding out the backstory to how the Herald came to be. All they know was that he had this mark on his hand that was able to control rifts and that he was the key to close that huge ass breach that threatened Thedas. People talked that he was blessed by Andraste. Everyone needs someone they can look up to in desperate times of need, to hold hope. It now hit home hard that this wasn’t something he was naturally gifted with, the entire situation was something that he did not ask for. Who knows what they did to him to force him to stay and not return to his family. Probably blamed him for it all.

All of these memories written down in a few journals from a man who hardly opened up about his life before that day. It was a blessing they had not been destroyed. He could not let them be lost, taking out all of books he could find, putting them into an acquired knapsack to take with him.

“I’m scared Dorian.” The innocence in his voice, like a child that was afraid of the monster under his bed. “I’m afraid to lose another friend.”

He had been selfish to think that he was the only person suffering from the turn of events. That silly man had affected everyone’s life around him. “We haven’t lost him yet. The Inquisitor will make it through this.”

“Because he was chosen by Andraste herself? Because he has walked the Fade twice and has surfaced each time?” Cole asked, the pep up in his voice showing a bit more optimism. 

“No, none of those reasons.” Sure, he probably had been the most luckiest elf in all of Thedas but there was something that far superseded all of the luck in the world. “Because he is the most stubborn man that I know. He will not go down without a fight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been a long time coming and I am very sorry to those who are reading for the delay. Life and the worst case of writer's block struck where nothing I was doing was coming out right. Unless I am happy with the content then I'm not going to put it out for you to read because you all deserve the best I can do.
> 
> One year ago yesterday, I published the first chapter for this. A year on, still writing it. For anyone who is still reading at this point then thank you so much for your support. It means the world and no matter what, we will be seeing this story until the end! So thank you, thank you, thank you for sticking around <3


	13. Chapter 13

“You can’t be serious. What do you mean he is missing? He isn’t a dog, yeah. You don’t just lose the fucking elfy Herald!”

This was the moment that all involved had been dreading, breaking the news to the major players that had been involved with the Inquisition. No time was wasted for the gossip to start spreading throughout Skyhold, bringing the need for damage control before it got free of the boundaries of their sanctuary and out into the world at large. The Inquisition had a lot of enemies and they were not sure which one, if any, was responsible for this. Should any of them get tipped off that the one that they had pinned their hopes on to win this fight was missing in action, it would be Haven all over again.

“As much as this pains me to say it, Sera is correct. It seems to me that people are not taking the importance of the Herald, seriously. You are aware he is the key, the _required_ final piece of the puzzle to resolve all of this?”

That is if they did not rip each other apart from the inside out.

“Wow, just wow. That is so rich coming from you two. Neither of you could give two shits about him when he was around and now suddenly you are acting like you lost your best friend.”

“Just because we saw things from a different perspective, that does not mean I did not respect the man.”

“You certainly could have fooled us darling. Every time that young boy tried to strike up a conversation with either one of you, you attacked and belittled him for being exactly as what you are.”

“Vivvy, how about you stop running your mouth before I lay my boot into it. You are nothing but a stuck up pisser who is here because your precious way of life is being disrupted, yeah. All of you fancy pants nobility think you are all high and mighty and above us. Let’s see how attacked and belittled you feel after I take three of these arrows and shove it straight up your ars-...”

“Enough!” The bellowing growl was supported with the slamming of hands down on the table, knocking over a couple of the strategic markers that were placed to record their current missions. “You are all the public face of this Inquisition. You are not children. So grow up, the lot of you!”

Sudden silence in response, the spymaster’s point clearly made. All for the exception of the childish blonde elf that couldn’t resist taking one last stab at aristocratic mage, flipping her the middle digit giving her final unspoken word. It did not go unnoticed, a raised index finger towards her was the last indication she would get before matters were taken further. That warning was heeded and Sera folded her arms across her chest, giving Leilana her full attention.

“As I was saying, his whereabouts are unknown. We received communication from the Lavellan clan that there were hostilities in the area that were directed towards them. The Inquisitor took it upon himself to abandon us to…”

“Abandoned?” scoffed the dwarf, bewildered that he heard it put like that. “His _family_ was in danger and you expected him to stay here and do nothing?”

“We have all made sacrifices to be here Varric, there is no reason why the Inquisitor should be any different.” Leliana directed her steeled gaze from the merchant to address the rest of the group watching on. “This isn’t a subpar army we have put together to take on a Blight. Ferelden is not only the only thing that will be lost if Corypheus wins this war. The entire fate of Thedas is at stake.”

Ohh, oh no. There was no way he was going to stand back and allow one of the advisors trash talk the only person who has been keeping this band together. Look, Rilien was no Hawke and his loyalty to him probably would waiver if presented with the choice between the two but shit, the kid really tried. They were not going to tarnish him so they could cover their mishandling… no, their fuck up, of the situation.

“How many of you knew that the Inquisitor was detained and held captive by these people?” Varric addressed the rest of the audience as his hand motioned to the advisors. But his accusations did not stop there, eyes directly focused to Cassandra, reminding her that she too played a part in this. “Accused him of murdering those at the conclave. Forced him to work for them. Did you all know that? His clan, family, all of them worried sick about him. Probably thought he was dead!”

“In all fairness, the Inquisitor had stated previously that he and his clan did not have a good relationship and that he was essentially an outcast from them.”

Not even bothering to move his head, Varric’s eyes rolled towards the one that took it upon themselves to bring down the rallying call. There just had to be one that would step in and muddy the situation. “Thanks for that Ruffles, you aren’t helping at all.” Shh, just ignore that she too was in the group he was lumping together for all of this deceit.

“And all his immediate family are deceased and have been for some time.”  
“Josephine, please stop talking now.”  
“And we did contact his clan so they knew he was alive.”  
“I think you have made your point now…”  
“They were more worried about their own safety than his.”

“Okay!” the merchant huffed, throwing his arms up in the air. She made her point and completely derailed the momentum he had. “We get it, there was a rocky relationship there. Sheesh. The point still remains. He wouldn’t abandon us.”

“I agree,” agreed Cassandra, stepping up in support. Shaky history aside, they all made mistakes but now was not the time for them to break down. This is the time they all needed to be unified and work together. “And what Varric said was true and I am not going to apologize for that. I think we have all made mistakes and these times are trialing for all of us. Right now, I think what we all need is transparency.” An uncharacteristic grin came to her lips, remembering that it was only just recently that she had heard the same thing. Looks like there was truth to his words, almost like he knew they would be tested. “We need to trust each other fully and work together to find the Inquisitor.”

Common goal was to find the Inquisitor, that they were all going to agree upon. Some members nodded, others gave an approving grunt or two and then the remainder just remained silent. However they reacted, they all looked towards the advisors, seeking guidance for the next steps moving forward. What did they know? What can they do to help? Anything to set them on the right path to find their missing comrade.

Cullen was the first to speak, briefly explaining about the call for help from the elves, skimming most of the part where they had reacted incorrectly just to save further flare ups but explained that their leader had left with all intention to return. Not everyone was satisfied with believing that to be true, the spymaster leaving the room passing off her reason for leaving as needing to take care of something urgently. A mental note was made to speak with her in private to get to the root of what the real problem was with her, later. For now he had to continue, explaining the genocide of the clan, the trail of breadcrumbs that lead to Wycome’s leadership being behind it but that is where everything went awry.

“We did some investigation and found that the main water source in Wycome has been tainted with red lyrium,” Blackwall stood up to the front, giving his first hand account of his findings. “After some interrogation, we were able to learn that the Duke was given the idea that by doing this, he could have a greater control over his subjects. We couldn’t tell if he was going mad from the poisoning or if he was just unstable to begin with but the man was paranoid that people were trying to take his place on the throne. That is why he allowed a Venatori agent into his ranks. He was promised all this wealth and power beyond his wildest dreams, et cetera, et cetera. That is all we have been able to extract. Between the screaming and the shit flinging, the man is certifiably insane.”

“So what you are saying is that Dukey flipped his shit and killed off an entire elfy group because some crazy pointy hat magician told him to do it? Wouldn’t he just kill off his own people since he thought they were going to do him in?” Sera asked, eyebrow raised in disbelief.  
“Maybe that was his plan,” Cassandra stepped up next, ready for her report. “But the lyrium had already affected the townsfolk. They blamed the elves for the sickness and with the correct push, they had all they needed to raise an attack against the Lavellan’s. It wasn’t just the Inquisitor’s clan. All of the elves within city limits, even the ones in the town alienages, were slaughtered. It is only an wild assumption but as it stands right now, it was a facade to make the Inquisitor’s clan look like a casualty of war and not the intended target.”

Having the clan attacked so conveniently at such a crucial time when they were so close to having all the resources required to launch the assault against Corypheus, nobody was going to believe it was just a coincidence. Even though it seemed to have the seed already planted there, this Venatori agent moved in and became that whisper in his ear knowing to take aim at what they would have assumed would bring the Inquisitor running. They got that right. 

“So where is this Venatori agent then?” Only that the situation did not end there. Oh, it was only the start of it all.

On mentioning of the Tevinter extremists, it was automatically assumed that their resident expert would step up and assume the reigns next. Nope. He stayed abnormally silent in the corner while The Iron Bull had the speaking stick passed over to him. “Venatori, pfft. Small fry in this scenario. The big question we all should be asking is why were the Reavers there?”

Dead silence. You could almost hear a pin drop. They could hear one of the guards outside coughing, at the most appropriate time to accentuate the awkwardness in the air. No one was biting. “They are a mercenary group,” he filled in the gaps for them.

“I’m sure we all worked that out,” Vivienne jeered. “What I don’t understand is why the names? The Chargers. The Reavers. Are they really necessary?”

“You need something catchy, punchy or else how is anyone going to remember you? It’s all about selling your business,” Bull clarified, giving back as much sass as he was received. Why else would they have names? Duh. Can’t hire a group to do your dirty work if you are after those guys who just did stuff. You know, those guys. The business required a name! 

“And the business that these guys sell, shit, even we have our limits. Like no kids. Even if someone predicted this kid was going to be a future dictator, no killing kids. The Reapers on the other hand. I’ve seen a fair share of fucked up shit in my time and these guys were usually behind. Most of them ex-prisoners, violent crimes. Murder, rape just to begin with. This one time, we were to provide security on this plantation, great pay, but when we got there, wall-to-wall murder house. Bodies hacked to pieces, hanging from beams, guts spilling out of them. These crazy assholes will even butcher their own to prevent identification on them. What is worse, nobody even knows who their leader is. It is some closely guarded secret.”

Grim reality started to sink in for all of them. The mood that was teetering on highly volatile went deathly somber with the picture that was being painted. Nobody wanted to ask that question, if there was a chance that he was still alive. For now, all they could believe is if the breach was still up there high in the sky and it was still there threatening to swallow them up, and not actually doing it, then there was hope.

“What do you need us to do?”

\--------------------------

“Do you think he is still alive?”  
“Maybe. It hasn’t moved in a while.”

The two mercenaries stood a couple of feet away from the body, the human’s head cocked to the side. Chair-bound, that is the position that they had left their guest in after the… fun… they had had with him. The dead weight of his body straining against the restraints around his wrists, the only thing that was stopping him from falling flat face first to the floor. Perhaps they could have observed his mortality a lot better if they had not shoved a hessian sack over his head. A blotchy, deep burgundy blood stained sack that wasn’t originally like that. Hmm, a little blood loss was totally fine.

“Should we place bets on if he is alive or not?”  
“Why don’t you go over and poke it and see if it moves.”

Well if he isn’t, then he is not going to be held responsible for this. They were told that they needed to keep the guy alive. Dead was certainly not alive. Dead would not get them paid. But you know, who is he to get in the way of two big qunari having a beatdown? Chances he could have been dragged into that mess and his face was certainly not going to end up like that.

Giving a deep unamused sigh, he pressed his arms against the crates he had been sitting on and launched himself up and off onto the ground, dusting his hands off on his pants as he landed. Kind of liked this one too. He was cute, sort of on that innocent, naive way. Oh well, accidents happen. Just as it was suggested, the man gave the shoulder of the elf a modest poke with his index. Nothing. Next he grabbed him and gave him a quick shake saying “hey” to grab his attention. Nothing. Hmm, maybe he really was deceased. Could have checked for a pulse but do elves even have pulses in the same spot as people? Under normal circumstances, he couldn’t care less if someone was alive, checking for a pulse was out of character so who knows…

Oh, oh! He twitched! Ohhh that was a groan. Then another. Phew, his ass was saved! Only that he continued to make noises, ones that he couldn’t make out because of the bag over his head. “You are going to need to speak up there if you want me to understand what you are saying,” he pointed out, leaning his ear in closer to make it out.

Most of what he could hear was ragged breathing but underneath that, he could have sworn that he was talking. The qunari could not have even cared less, leaving the guy to do whatever he needed to do. Well if he was not interested in this strange specimen then more for him. His ear lingered round abouts where his mouth would be, listening in wait to decode this strange babble that was coming out.

“Huh? What is a Dorian?”

“It’s not a what, it’s a who.”

\--------------------------

He has really grown attached to the oversized chair. It wasn’t part of the decor that was brought in with the retrofit of Skyhold. This grand piece of junk had been there at least since the previous owners, covered with an inch of dust that offended his delicate nostrils with even the slightest shift. A lot of cleaning later, by an adorable young mage who had joined from Redcliffe because he would not personally do it, and this chair was back to it’s former glory. It wasn’t exactly charming but it was familiar. A bit of familiarity in his life right about now was welcomed.

So why was he sitting down in this chair, relaxing, while knowing that somewhere out there the Inquisitor’s life was in danger? Because they were told to continue on as if nothing had ever happened. They were the group that all of the followers in Skyhold, Fereldan, hell, everyone in Thedas had looked up to. If they caught wind that their Herald was missing and presumed dead, everything they had work towards would fall apart and there was still too much left to be done. Most of his days when he was not working away, was spent in that library researching what he could to track Corypheus and what they could use to defeat him. To find what countrymen and women had abandoned their kin to side with this monstrosity.

Today’s reading agenda was not from the plethora of information these shelves bestowed upon him. Instead he sat there with a cup of tea and a crudely bound animal hide journal. The book was enough to take his mind off the chaos of late, finding himself drawn into the story through the eyes of someone he did not really know. Every once in awhile he would give a soft snigger. Sometimes a smile would stay present on his lips for a succinct period of time while he found a tale, amusing. If anyone thought that Rilien had bad luck in his adult life, they should have met the younger version of him. The boy was pretty much a walking accident case. Very tragic indeed.

Too far back, too young. Taking another one of the journals, Dorian flipped forward through the pages to find something more recent, a page catching his eye. “Interesting,” he muttered to himself, tracing the curving of one half of his moustache. In fact, positively captivating. Actually…

Packing the handful of journals backup, Dorian looked around the library for a safe hiding place. He could have moved up to the top of the tower and hide them up with the clutter for the birds to poop on but what better way to hide something then keep it in plain sight. Starting from the trifle of Maliphant's journals, each of the entries of the Inquisitor’s was hidden, working them through the rest of the tedious clutter they had picked up along the way. Unless any of them were laced with stories of romance, no one in their right mind would go through the endless trifle nonsense. Even he chose to ignore most of them that came through. They would be safe.

His first stop was one that was not so far, descending down the staircase, ignoring Solas working at his desk as it would have been out of the ordinary to acknowledge him, and into the diplomat’s office without so much as a knock.

“Josephine, what a surprise to see you here,” the mage announced his grand entrance in the utmost cheery tone. Truthfully, he wished this was one of the times that she was not there burning the midnight oil but it was almost like she never left. “How are you this remarkable evening? Might I say that the moons are quite breathtaking tonight and I suggest you should take some time out to gaze on their ostentatiousness.”

“You are not going to blindside me with your fancy words Dorian or did you forget who you were talking to?” Not even a look up from her letter, casually talking while still scribing.

“I was thinking more along the lines of titillating.” Suavely sliding up to the desk, the self-confessed serial flirter placed his hand down on the paper, preventing her from writing any further to draw attention up to him. “Earlier on you said that the Inquisitor had told you that his family was deceased and that his relationship with his clan was rocky. I was wondering when did he tell you this?”

Somehow with all the frustration and mess that these people put her through, the woman was one of patience. One of these days she would probably snap and kill someone with a letter opener but today was not going to be that day as she calmly put her quill down. “If I remember correctly, it was back in Haven. I had grown concerned with the rumours that were being spread about the Herald being of Dalish descent. We wanted to stop the slander. Personally I thought depicting the Dalish as someone who could be relatable with would help this. Instead he disclosed that he did he spent most of his days in solitary by himself and that he was practically invisible to clan. The reason why he suspected his Keeper chose him to journey to the conclave was that they would not have missed him if he did not return. Such a sad tale really.”

“And his family?”

“Just his father. He did not want to go into any intricate detail about his life but he told me that he was an only child and his mother died shortly after childbirth. His father passed away due to illness so there was nobody there waiting for him.”

That confirmed what he wanted to hear. Removing his obstructing hand, Dorian moved to the other side of the table and lowered himself down. Elbows on top of wood, chin resting in the palms of his hands, teasing her with a playful smile. “You know it would bring me much pleasure to read this transcript for myself. Just so I can get a better feel the situation in a whole.”

“Not a chance!” Shot down in flames straight away. Could not even plead his case. Just flat out rejected. Ouch. “The last time I gave my work to someone, I was told it lacked flair. ‘I’m falling asleep just hearing about it. You got to dress it up Ruffles or no one is going to want to read it.’” Her voice deepened to mimic the voice behind the harsh words, making it clearly obvious that their resident novelist had taken it upon himself to spice up the drab stories that had been recorded. “When it was returned, it had so many fanatical details in it that it read like a trashy novel. So no. I will not let my work be torn apart for the sake of better reading. We are recording history, not working on a fantasy tale.”

Someone was still very salty about that and after the abuse she had copped today, he wasn’t going to stoke the fire and make that rising anger worse. “Fair enough. Your work is one of importance and I will not keep you from it any longer. I will be sure to send a box of Antivan chocolates your way for all that you have done for me today.”

“Those ones with the liquor cherries inside of them?”  
Success. You still have it Pavus. “Only the best for you.”

All of the way out into the courtyard, the Tevinter maintained that arrogant air about him. Just casually strolling around the building at night just because he could. As soon as he was clear of everyone around him, that cocky attitude instantly dropped along with his shoulders. How many lies had Rilien told people? He couldn’t fault him for doing so after what he had been through. Protecting those close to him would have been his number one priority after his brutal welcoming. Now it was painfully clear that he really knew nothing about the young elf on a personal level and what he did disclose was probably further inaccuracies and misinformation. Just more proof stacking up on how much everyone around here abused his good graces and never really took the time to get to know him.

“Can’t sleep either?”

Words without warning made him jump in shock. Worse, his body went into a natural state of defense, pooling energy into his hand creating a fireball. Thankfully reflexes were enough not to attack and burn the person to a crisp, instead using the illumination to confirm who was behind the question.

“Kaffas Cullen. Hasn’t anyone taught you not to sneak up on a mage? I could have disintegrated you into a pile of ashes.”

“Technically you could not. Besides the control that the Chantry had over the Templars by giving them lyrium to use, it also saved us from effects of magic in return,” the Commander corrected him, amused that he had scared the crap out of him. “I would assume that only those who had lived in a Circle would have been aware of that so I’ll let you off on that one.”

Since turning him into a crispy commander was not on the cards, there was no point extinguishing the flame, using it to illuminate the area so they could all see better. “What on the Maker’s green earth is that?” asked the mage, motioning to the weed sprouting out of the pot plant.

“This is elfroot. Our alchemists extract the juice, or I assume that is what they do, to refine for our healing potions. It is one of the key ingredients.” Watering can in hand, he sprinkled one pot plant with a good healthy dose of water and then moved to the next one, repeating the process. “These are the Inquisitor’s personal plants. I am taking care of them for him while he is… absent.” Absent, that was one way to put it. Better than abducted. “I’ve already spotted Mother Giselle mistaking them for weeds and uprooting a couple while she has been walking around the courtyard.”

Ahh yes, now he knew what he was talking about. This was the plant that the elf had a strange attachment to. Once he misplaced a pouch full of it and tore a camp apart trying to find it. “You are doing Andraste’s work because Maker forbid should he return to a withered pile of leaves,” Dorian half-heartedly chuckled. “I’ll leave you to your good deed then.”

Extinguishing the flame, Dorian turned afoot to leave, only getting a step before he was grabbed by the bicep. Before he could ask why, the blonde was explaining how there was some information that he wanted to talk to him about and was going to wait until tomorrow. Since they were both there right then and there, then it would be silly to wait therefore, would appreciate it if he joined him up in his quarters. He could have said no, more like he should have, instead he was following the commander back to his room. Hey look, if he was going to hit on him then he would not say no. With all of the confusion and the chaos that had happened, plus he got this vibe from him that he had a curious nature towards what it was like to be with a man, so if he wanted to explore that tonight then he would have…

“Stay with me the night.”

W-What? That was not what he expected. Little mind fantasies aside, to hear him actually come out and say something like that, well it threw him through a loop. Look, he may have been easy but not that easy. Take him out for a glass of wine at least to set the mood before popping a question like that.

“Cullen, I am flattered that you would consider me to explore your tastes into same gender relationships, just with everything that is going on, I feel our priorities should be focused elsewhere.” Sure, he was the perfect specimen but this wasn’t exactly…

Unrestrained laughter erupted from the other man, perplexing the Tevinter. Was there a punchline that he missed? Obviously he had. Oh, oh that bastard. “You did that on purpose.” Yes, yes, staying in the same room, even sleeping meant more than engaging in sex. There was a deep down evil side in that man. People should not fall for that boyishly good charm he had. He was a bad one.

“Oh I absolutely did,” he continued to chuckle, lightening the mood. “You walked straight into that. There must be seriously wrong if I can get one up on the glorious Dorian Pavus.”

“At least you didn’t ask me if I was alright. That was what I was expecting to get.”  
“Had crossed my mind.”

The dead air of silence that followed was enough to say it all. For as long as he could remember, he had hide a lot of who he was, his feelings. Openly expressing yourself was frowned upon. For so long he kept a lot of it bottled up and when he finally started to show who he truly was, well, here he is now with the Inquisition because of it. There was only so much he could do to ignore it. It was always going to be there, the feeling that there was a huge gaping hole in his chest. He would rather feel numb than experience this.

“We will get him back, alive. I give you my word Dorian. I will not rest until he is back with us, safe.”

Couldn’t focus on it. Push past. Dorian nodded and smiled in reassurance. “I know. In any case, I may have some information that may help us. Get me a bottle of wine and we will sit down and discuss this.”

“An older brother? Are you sure about this?”

A bottle and three quarters later of wine, the mage already topping up the glasses to make it the second bottle done. The entire time had not been spent trying to get out this recent tidbit of information but was used for a wind down. Enjoying the banter between two people who were growing from acquaintances to become something more along the lines of friends. It was only half way into the second bottle that he thought he better spill the beans because by the time he cracked open the third, one of them would surely pass out.

“None of our reports mentioned any family for the Inquisitor and we thoroughly investigated them.”

“Well there was a lot that our dear Inquisitor kept secret,” Dorian pointed out in case it wasn’t clear enough already, taking a large mouthful of wine. Past sipping point, gulp now. “And you can’t blame him after all everyone believed he was a murderous Dalish elf. Even still now you hear townsfolk turning their nose up at him as he walks by. One time this guy just up and punched him straight in the face and started ranting at him that he was the reason why his children were dead and he just stood there and took everything he threw at him. Punches. In the face. And I thought being spat at was bad.”

“Dorian you are digressing,” the commander sighed, taking the last bottle away from him before he opened it. “Entertaining this notion that there is an older brother, how do you know about this man?”

So he may have been responsible for drinking well over half of those bottles. Okay, Cullen only had one glass. “I found, more like Cole found and pointed me in the direction, the Inquisitor's journals. I know, how ridiculous. Only children keep journals which is what I exactly said.” And he was doing it again. A good sobering slap would work or at least a mantra to keep him on track. “I took them from Wycome and I have them in my possession, hidden. He talks about his brother throughout them and the last entry about him was that he had left the clan to mingle with the humans. His exact location is unknown but there were many entries that references his brother’s desire to know more about cultures and arts. Could be a long shot but Nevarra has both of those.”

“We need to keep this just between us. No one else can know about it.”  
“You don’t think there is a snitch within the Inquisition do you?”

“You were not going to tell me or anyone else about this were you?” The silence that came in return from the bronzed man confirmed his suspicions. “Exactly. Now I want to believe that there is no one on the inside but we can not let this information get out to anyone. Rilien is clearly protecting his older brother.”

So what do they do now? Do they launch an attempt to find this mysterious brother in the hopes they can grab him and protect him? Having Inquisition soldiers suddenly staking out Nevarra for seemingly no reason would bring a lot of unwanted attention so if someone did know about him, they could be leading them straight to him. Right now, he did not envy Cullen’s job at all. Trying to work all that shit out, knowing very well that a wrong move can cause the genocide of a clan. That would mess anyone up.

“Better yet…” Dorian drank the last of the glass, swirling his finger on top of the rim. Not that he could sympathise as he had never had such a close bond with anyone but he has seen what that young elf had given up for random strangers. That left one question. “...what would he be willing to give up to ensure his safety?”

\--------------------------

“Was the drawing of the smiling face on the sack necessary?”  
“Just something to brighten the mood.”  
“Take it off. It looks ridiculous.”

His head snapped backwards as the sack was violently pulled over the back of the chair, no regards given to the dried blood that stuck it to his face. A couple of yanks was all it needed to pull the bag the rest of the way off, opening some old wounds up along the way. But there was no complaint, no yelps, not even a groan. Rilien was quiet as a mouse. Listening. Waiting.

“Hem tibi sicut stercore.”

Out of nowhere, a stiff slap connected across his temple knocking his head to the side. Blindsided by the attack, he still kept his mouth shut, trying to make out who was there in front of him. Nothing but a blur between the streaming light. Amount of blows he had taken the the head had only partially been the cause for his hindered eyesight as he struggled open his right eyelid. Completely swollen shut and throbbing to boot, much like his body all over but that part was particularly pulsating.

“Did I say to hit him? Because I am fairly certain that I said nothing of the sort and I am standing right here so I would remember if I said ‘put your hand to his face’. Now leave. I want some quality time with my… guest.”

Sounds of retreating footsteps from a couple of people leaving just as she had demanded proved to him that she had the power over them. So this was certainly their employer. She had finally arrived.

“I am sure you have many questions. Probably asking yourself who I am, who do I work for, in what extent did I play a part in what happened to your clan?”

Right at that point in time, not really but those questions he had asked himself over and over again while he was being callously beaten. Those last whispered words in his ear remarking that his pain was only beginning, it was a replayed mantra with every impact. 

“None of those questions are important and we should just value the time that we have here, together… while we can.”

Whoever this woman was, the way she addressed him in that ephemeral moment, there was something in her tone that took a deep gratification. Perhaps she was part of the Venatori. Maybe she was a relative of one of the hundreds he had slaughtered on his travels. Whoever she was, he had done something to piss her off and whatever she had in store for him, there would be a great deal of personal pleasure from it.

The slightest brush of the side of her finger against his cheek made the elf shiver uncomfortably, his head perking up and scanning to see where she was coming from. You can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. That felt like the approach. Reel him in with this strange showing of mercy and then when he is baited then snuff him out.

“There is just the two of us here,” she serenely whispered, her mouth so close he could feel her breath down his jawline. “You have no idea how long I have waited to meet you.” Instinctively he started pulling away from the breach in his personal space, catching himself after the minuscule flinch. If there was any time not to show weakness then this was it. Grit your teeth and don’t give the reaction they are looking for. “And to have you here all to myself, I have truly been ble-...”

“She is here, isn’t she?” questioned the redhead, finally breaking his silence. “The elf you had following me. I know she is here. Right now.”

Hair on the back of his neck that stood on end, the shiver up his spine of someone just out of reach watching over him. Even without his eyesight, he could feel his shadow lingering close by. And it appeared he was correct, the woman taking a couple of steps away from him in presumably what was an open invitation to speak out to her.

“I know you can understand me. Speak, don’t speak, use whatever funny language you want but I know you understand the things I am saying to you.” Slowly his head scanned around the room listening out for any movement. It was a complete failure when the sound of his own head throbbing, putting pressure against his ear drums, was louder than any motion the assassin could make. “You have been following me around for some time now so I feel it is unfair that you all seem to know so much about me.” His voice started cracking towards the end from the dryness of his throat. Rilien tried to produce some saliva to swallow to help moisten it but he was bone dry. “So I think it is only fair that in return, I should get to ask something about you. Since I am going to be here for what looks like a long haul, I think we should get to know each other.” Talking to what could have been nothing but air around him for much longer was not going to happen, already exhausted from the short burst he had just given.

But there was success. A crack of rocks under feet, the change of the aura around him going from unresponsive to antipathetic. He swore it was not the fabrication of his weary mind but the temperature around him instantly dropped a couple of additional degrees. She was close. Blur of light dropped a couple of shades bringing a smile to his lips.

“Tell me,” he started, pushing past the tenseness of his muscles to stretch himself up, meeting face-to-face. “Tell me… how did it feel... when I crushed your _fucking_ face?”

… What did he just do? It was like a sudden case of foot in mouth disease had come over him, forcing him to blurt out something that he was not meant to vocalize. Sure, he had thought about saying it and he was still stumped on how she was back from the dead to begin with. Speaking it aloud was another thing. What happened the last time he saw her? Oh yeah, he had a dagger forced through his shoulder… and he just insulted her. Rilien thought about bracing himself against what physical pain she was about to inflict as her response, only that there was no chance that he could prepare himself for this.

From upright to flat on his back, a relentless blow from a palm knocked him over. The daze from the sickening thud of his skull impacting on the stone was the only thing cutting off the flow of pain to his wrists that were not only being crushed by the unnatural angle they were tied behind him but also the weight of the chair, himself and now her body swiftly straddled on top of him. Previously she had been so calm, in control. This time he unleashed something within her, starting with the flurry of indecipherable abuse so intense that spittle sprayed his face.

Bam! Then it hit him. A heaviness inside of his chest as if a ghostly hand had penetrated through and grabbed him by the heart, tightly constricting the organ. Tingling in the arms, the feeling that his stomach was swelling and pressing up against his rib cage, building pressure in his skull. What was she doing to him!?

“You know if she keeps this up, she is going to kill him.”

That voice… Was that the mercenary talking to her?

“Excuse me? You are the hired hand. I’m not paying you for your input.”  
“So you are going to let your _personal_ hired hand kill him?

Not even a plea could be managed, pressure against his lungs restricted his breathing, able to get air in but not able to get it out. Whenever he tried to struggle, she squeezed harder. That unavoidable darkness was looming close and this time, if it hit, he could be sure that he would not be waking up from it.

“You might want to hurry up and make the decision. He is starting to convulse.”

Should she? Shouldn’t she? The reaction was not at all instant, clearly the woman was weighing up the pros and cons of the outcome. Time was not on his side, the longer she took, the closer he would be.. Instant relief hit. Whatever that sign was to tell the other to release him, it came. A nod, a glare, hell, she could have danced a jig for all he cared. The young elf was grateful that the debilitating weight inside his chest was gone, left coughing, gagging, gasping and yet able to breath in and out.

“Never back talk me again,” she warned the other that his actions would not be tolerated a second time.

It did not take long for her to squat down at his side, that condescending display of affection coming back, brushing the sweaty bangs off his brow. Deja vu washed over him. Whoever this person was, he could quite confidently say that he had never come across her in his life, directly at least. However, her demeanour, her touch, the silhouette that lingered over him. _You are both monsters. I need to erase my mistakes._ It brought back familiarity. Familiarity. Ha! It was just a fucking dream.

“If you want to kill me… do it already,” the redhead panted, too drained from exhaustion to pull his head away.

“That is not what I want. It is what she wants, sure, but that is certainly not what I am after. Rilien.”

The look on his face must had said it all, the shock from hearing his name, his _name_ being spoken aloud. It was always Inquisitor this and Herald that. He doubted that a majority of them even knew he had name, just ordained this title from birth. To hear her call him this, he was taken back so much that she heartily chuckled at his reaction.

“To be bewildered by hearing your own name. The Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste. That person is merely the figurehead that the people look up to as a sign of hope. I have no interest in that person. The one I do is you, Rilien.”

He didn’t know what to say or if he wanted to speak, his mind swimming with too many thoughts to pick one out and process it. A couple of times he parted his lips to speak, an audible puff of air came out without any words behind it. There was absolutely nothing he could say.

“Being all quiet again?” she softly asked, still caressing his face.”It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you… for now.” 

What he hoped would be the end of this session of madness, turned out to be an intermission. Grabbed by the shoulder, he was violently jerked up into an upright seated position. Rilien instinctively tensed his body waiting for a follow through strike from the man as if it was hornless, he was good at doing that but there was nothing. She kept to her word.

“Have you ever stop to think that you are here not because of something that you have done but merely you are a repercussion?” A intentional pause, leaving him to consider that possibility. Someone else caused this? Surely she was trying to divert attention away from the true nefarious dealings. It had to be. His entire clan being slaughtered was a steep price for someone else’s mistakes, especially when it was not his own. “It's a flow-on effect. The action of one affecting those around them. The ones we love get caught up and suffer all because of…”

All stirring stopped. Against she was close by, right by his ear. Lingering, waiting. But waiting for what? The sounds of scuffling directly ahead of him, feet dragging, grunting. Another person confined? Was this his Keeper? The person that was responsible that she was referring to? Dammit! If only he could see what right in front of him, then he wouldn’t be...

“Someone else’s actions,” hummed in his ear, her tone superior with the success of her victory.

Someone else’s actions? The elf was confused. Was she not going on about him being the fallout of what someone else has done? Who was it? What loved one? Everyone he cared about had just been taking away from him, all but one...

“Hey… you look like shit.”

… No. No, it couldn’t be. Not him! Anyone but him!

He couldn’t speak, a lump in his throat rose and stuck half way. Hands shook, his heart pounding so hard that he could hear it in his head. “Dae-...” he choked out but the rest of it would not come.

“Speak up. We can’t hear you,” she mused, relishing in his anguish.

His brother. They had his brother! What little shred of hope he had been clutching to had been completely torn apart. As long as he got away, as long as he was safe. He had come back to Wycome because of him, because he was concerned about their clan. If only he had responded quicker then Daeron would not have returned.

“W-What do you mean?,” Rilien stammered, trying to play it as cool as possible but his voice was breaking up. “I thought your love should be unconditional. You should tell me I am pretty even though I am not.” No point to trying to play it off, pretend that he did not know him. They had been following him around for that long that they clearly knew that they were related.

“Well how about the broken blood vessels in your eye really brings out the colour of your hair?”  
“Much better. You okay?”  
“A few bumps and scrapes here and there. Nothing a bit of elfroot wouldn’t fix. The old hag is okay too. She is around but Tega… didn’t make it.”  
“Your shit sword skills?”  
“Yeah… something like that.”

They were on the search for survivors. Majority of the troops had already been cleared up or taken off and there was not a chance that Tegalad would have fell in battle so easily. Outnumbered, possibly but it was like they knew exactly what their movements where.

“You can also add shit tracking skills to my list of things I’m not good at,” the eldest Lavallen continued, carrying on with casual conversation. “Ended up in a quaint place called Hercinia which I was told was completely the opposite direction from Wycome and Antiva. Probably about half way to Markham by time I was found… Do you know that it took three moons to get that far? I must be slowing down in my age.”

Rilien knew exactly what he was doing. Shit, shit, shit! He was trying to drop hints about the location of where they were.

“It won’t take me long they said. You are quick on your feet so you can make it there in no time. You know it took me four times that amount when I moved on? So I guess they were right” Daeron, for the love of the pantheons, stop. “So those combined would have been how long…”

Next sound that came out of his brother was the forcible sound of him exhaling, followed by the struggles to breathe. It did not stop there, hearing the repetitive thumps of him being assaulted, boots tramping on him, sometimes colliding with the ground, sometimes connecting with the target. All he could do was listen to what they were doing, struggling against his own restraints, getting the surge of adrenaline to pull himself to a stand with the chair still attached. Just as quick he was pushed back down to a sit, held down by the shoulders.

Someone whispered something in his ear but he was too livid to listen to it, the words to help him ignored while he struggled to fight back. “Please stop! Stop it! He didn’t do anything. It is _me_ you are after,” pleaded the young elf, fighting back tears from hearing his brother’s cries. “Just stop!”

“Almost everyone you have ever cared about has been taken away,” the woman conversed, clearly relishing the situation as a whole. She did nothing at all to stop the onslaught even after his body went limp from unconsciousness. “What are you willing to do to protect him?"

“Anything!” Rilien pleaded. “I’ll do anything just please, stop!”

And stop they did with just one command from their benefactor. The control she exerted over them was sublime. A snap of the fingers was all it needed to cease everything but she wasn’t done yet, telling them to take his brother away. That was not what he wanted, he wanted to be with him. She couldn’t separate them again. Daeron needed him!

“No, No! No you can’t take him away from me!”  
“As long as you do what I say, when I say without complaints, then he will be safe.”  
“I said I would do anything, Please, please! Don’t hurt him!”

Words fell on deaf ears, the pair continued to drag his body away. Using a burst of energy, Rilien fought against the arms holding him down, lurching forward using his entire lithe body weight to break free.

“Listen to me. You need to stop and calm down,” the mercenary quietly instructed him, once again giving him a command to help him make it through the situation with minimal impact.

Just like before, he ignored it, intensifying the fight. It was not long after that the hands holding him down, snaked around his neck. The muscle of the tricep pressed sharply into his throat and pulled upwards, cutting the supply of oxygen. Without his hands free to claw his way to freedom and with his already weakened state, all the redhead could do was kick his legs out, dig his heels in and kick out some more. It was not long until his already darkened world began to get blacker. 

_Daeron…_


	14. Chapter 14

Nothing said good morning much like the dank, musty smell of living down in the deep bowels of a cave system. The stagnant air that had been left untouched for so long how swirling and circulating with the path, freshly travelled, kicking up some of that settled dust and who knows what other dormant spores. Mmm smelt like old lady pants that had been shit in three times over and then left to permeate some more. Nostalgic. So much that it warmed the cockles of his heart, putting him in a positive mood. Down the beaten path he travelled, whistling a merry tune.

“Why are you so happy?” His attitude was questioned by the roadblock in front of him.

The candlestick in his left hand was held up high to illuminate face one, then moved to face two and then back to face one. “The question is, why wouldn’t I be?” Sounds of silence from the pair made him sigh loudly, rolling his eyes at their lack of participation. “Fine, lets see. The stars are in alignment and some deity somewhere is taking a shit. Who cares!” Still nothing. Unless they started lightening up and trying to make the most out of all of this, then it was going to be a very arduous duration. “I’m here to bring sleeping beauty his food.” Just for good measure, he rattled the tray he had been meticulously balancing on the right hand, clinking the porcelain plate.

With a reminder that he was not going to have long, the blockade parted, allowing him the room to step between them, strutting on through. They seriously needed to lighten up. You have got to be able to enjoy what you do, have some fun with it. Life is too short to be all gruff. Which is exactly the attitude he hopes that the elf has adopted.

Just because he was chained up by the ankles, forced to sleep on the dirty floor. Couldn’t be that bad. Surely an elf would be used to slumming it anyway, that’s what they did after all. The rats of the cities and the scavengers of the wild. Oh and that his brother was being held captive along with him, which he did not take too well. Pfft, minor details to be upset about. It’s a new day.

“Are you playing dead there or really sleeping?” he curiously asked, giving his thigh a nudge with his foot. 

When there was no reply, he placed the candle holder close by, then the placing the tray down on top of a nearby crate and dragged it across the room. The obnoxious shuddering from the plate bouncing up and over rocks and banging against the box caught the guards attention. No matter, he ignored their grunts of displeasure and got everything in order.

Breakfast in bed by candlelight. Guess some would call that romantic. Except he was already picking at the food instead of passing it on. If he was not going to wake up and acknowledge him then-...

“I heard something about breakfast being offered the morning after.” 

Well aren’t you adorable. “Are you flirting with me?” the tattooed man laughed, bewildered to hear that coming out of his mouth. He did hope for high spirits but that knocked him out of the ballpark. “Candlelight too. You’re welcome.” Once the elf had sat up, he passed him down the plate. Nothing fancy but it was better than eating gruel and shit, the prisoner was eating better than they were. “I was expecting you to take a moral stance, toss the tray around in a hissy fit and go on a hunger strike.”

“It would not only harm me but it would harm my brother,” he explained between mouthfuls of cooked oats. “I’m not willing to take that risk.”

“Ha!,” the man scoffed, leaning over elbows onto his knees to get a better look at the redhead. “You don’t seem like the type that would just roll over and let them walk all over you.”

A shrug and then silence. Such a sly bastard. The cogs were turning over inside of his head already. He would certainly need to have some snacks on standby because he could guarantee that shit would go down in a drop of hat and he would want to have something to munch on when that happened. That information would be kept under wraps for now to see how it plays out, purely for entertainment purposes.

“I see your keeper or whatever you called her, did a good job with that magical hoodoo on you.”

Not a single scratch on him. You would not have been able to tell that he was violently abused by a couple of big bastards only days earlier. Oh and he did choke him out. That didn’t leave a mark though.

“...”

Again with the silent treatment. They were at such a great start, felt like they were bonding and everything. Okay so he was getting a vibe from him that he was bitter about his brother getting snatched, also for the beatings. Maybe abduction in general.

“Say, I have something to cheer you up,” he announced with a pep in his tone. “Looks like I won’t be pulling guard duty for you at all.” Oh he knew, he knew that it was not something cheery at all but he was trying to put a positive spin on it. Also, was he finished with his food? Because it looked like he was and he wasn’t lying when he was being fed better than them so he would take that off his hands. No, no, he don’t need his strength for now when he as mysterious healing power at his disposal.

“You see,” he started, stopping to put some food in his mouth and chew. At least he had the decency to keep his mouth closed and swallow before moving on. “Trying to save your hide didn’t go over well with the employer so I have been reassigned.”

Expecting the air of silence once again, he combatted this period my cleaning up the plate, licking his fingers of the leftover gravy one by one. “Where to, I think I heard you ask?”

“No, I didn’t-…”

“Watching your brother.” The B word. That seems to be a key factor in getting his attention. “The guy they brought in to watch him has been reassigned to you.”

Shifting up from his half sitting, half legs stretched out position, the Dalish tried his best to get to a fully seated position except being bound by the ankles, the chains prevented him from getting fully cross legged. “Guess no one could have a worse bedside manner than them.” The clear head motion was towards his qunari comrades who has looked back more than a couple of times to check up on what they were doing.

“Oh no, he is a real cunt. Makes the pair of them combined look like a saint.” He could have sworn he just saw those large, pointy ears droop. “But look at the positive, he is _your_ cunt now and not his so you don’t need to worry about his wellbeing and can focus on your own. See, told you it would cheer you up.”

Looks like time was up, the command was barked from afar for him to pack it up and move on. He could have told them where to go but in reality, it was not going to change anything. He had a job to do and the elf was still chained to a wall.

“Something tells me that you had a spark that is burning deep inside. Something that you are not even aware of yet,” explained the mercenary, returning the crate to its original resting ground in just the same loud fashion. “But don’t worry. I’m sure this place will unlock it.” He picked up the candle and blew on the dancing flame with a puff of breath, leaving them both in the darkness.

Lastly was the plate, crouching down to pick it up. Couldn’t be leaving something like this around so casually. He could smash it and use the shards for a weapon or if he was so inclined to, end his own life. As he moved up to a stand, slender fingers wrapped around his wrist stopping him enough to look down at them. From the hand to the head and then back to the hand.

“I need to know, why did you stop me before?”

He could have slapped his hand away, yanked it out of his weakened grasp or went for a more direct assault to promote the hierarchy of dominance in this situation. Instead he put the plate down and gently one by one, uncurled his fingers. “The longer you stay alive, the more money I receive,” he explained quietly.

“Thanks anyway,” Rilien replied in an equally hushed voice but there was still that reservation there.

Playing to get on his good side? Genuinely showing gratitude? If only he had an idea of what was about to come.

“No point thanking me. You are still in this shithole after all.”

\--------------------------

“Well, well. This was not the welcome I was expecting.”

Out of nowhere came the swarms, circling around him making sure he was boxed in. And boy, were they unhappy. Swords, knives, axes. He raised his hands up high in surrender, showing that he came in peace. What they did not notice was the slow, inconspicuous glance up as he casually turned, continuing the guise of giving up. Some archers were watching on, two with bows aimed on him. The worry were the two with crossbows just a bit further back. If any of them were anxious and trigger happy then it was going to do some serious damage if they hit.

“Not to say that I have not been welcomed like this before. Lets just say I have faced an angry mob or two in my time but I have come here with some information that you may be interested in. Love please, point that elsewhere.” Armed only with his sultry voice and the tip of his finger, the mysterious man was able to coax the shaking, young girl holding a broom near his head, to lower it down. “I am not trash.”

“I think I will be the one that makes that decision.”

The sea of people parted into a walkway, the tall dirty blonde-haired man strutting his way through with such conviction. Ahh, this must be one of those big wigs he had heard about. Wait a second. The closer he advanced, he more he swore he had seen this pretty boy before somewhere. Hmm. He was able to get a better look at him after the hood that he was wearing to conceal his identity was yanked from his head, which was followed by the simultaneous gasping from the front row that stood around him.

“You are an elf,” stated the Commander who did not seem as stunned as the rest of the group.

“Did the pointy ears give it away?” the platinum blonde elf questioned sarcastically. “Or is it these distinctive face markings that points out that I came from the Dalish?” Why people pointed out the obvious was beyond him. “Yes, I am an elf and this elf right here has come here, out of his way mind you, to share some information with you that I believe will find highly useful.”

“And how did you get inside here?”

Did anybody here want to know anything? Information sharing, helpful stuff! Instead people just focused on everything around it. He gave an exaggerated sigh and flicked his wrist that was still up in the surrender position, to the right. “Through the gaping hole in your wall.”

“Cullen, stand down. I will take him from here.”

This time a devilish smile was presented for the one that parted the wave of people, the beautiful sight for sore eyes coming towards him. “Leliana, my sweet bard. Like a fine wine, you only get better with age. How long has it been? I can imagine still to this day, I bet you think about that night we spent together, the four of us tangled togeth-... whoa.”

By the scruff of his cape, he was yanked off balance, hopping on one foot until he got his stepping back. All of those aggressive faces turned to one of bewilderment, unsure of what to make of him or what just came out of his mouth. Dear women, there is no need to be ashamed of it. It was a magical night shared where-… “Were you really going to throw a tomato at me?”

Knives, swords and tomatoes. A young teen decided to bring an armful of fruit to a sword fight.

“The acidic juices would burn your eyes.”  
“They aren’t really hi-...”

No more talking. Nightingale had the death grip on him, callously escorting him through the back ways of Skyhold away from the extra prying eyes that wanted to inspect the newcomer. Back door of the library sprung open with the heel of her foot from the all mighty kick she gave. Every mage working in the research area peered discreetly out from behind their shelves to see the red head dragging the elf behind her up to her loft, watching with great interest. All they would be able to do next is hear the crashing and banging from above and draw their own conclusions on what was happening up there. Sounds like the pissy state she had been in recently had begun to ramp up further.

“Are you not even going to say you are happy to see me?” the elf jeered as he dusted himself off from where he landed. “Such terrible mistreatment for an old friend. Did I hear correctly that Morrigan was here as well? Next thing you are going to tell me that Alistair stopped by and that I was not invited to the party.”

“Zevran this is not the time,” growled the spymaster, folding her arms displaying her displeasure. “We have enough issues of our own here in the current moment, we do not need you to be dragging your issues with the Crows to us as well.” The look on his face must have said it all because all she could do was shake her head. “Just because I did not contact you, it does not mean that I am not aware of what you are doing.”

“You know how it is, betray them once by not killing your target is enough to piss them off but when you start killing them in return, well, it doesn’t go down well at all. Unlike myself who does a splendid job at that. Leliana, I am a big boy… in more ways than one but I am not here for you to solve my problems. I am here to help you out. So please, could you get this weary traveller get something warm to put into his belly and a good brew to drink. After that, then we can sit down and talk.”

He had half expected her to tell him where to go and just spit it out, instead he was treated with what he asked for. Ahh it was good to get a good meal in, something that was few and far between when you had a pack of assassin’s hot on your trail. How hot? Lets just say that one packing tomatoes better go back and rethink their choice of weapon because they probably will have to use it against someone who is highly trained. Probably should tell the “innkeeper” that she should prepare herself and the rest of the guests for some trouble but meh, she would be the worst spy if she did not already know.

“Would it be too much to ask for some warm apple pie?” Zevran pushed the boundaries on their friendship, continuing the stall tactic. Only the steeled glare of one that was clearly past her charity threshold was his answer. “I’ve heard you have lost your Inquisitor. I have some information that may point you in the right direction to find him.”

“Lost? Lost you say? Ha! I think you mean the Inquisitor that ran away, ditched, deserted and overall abandoned us.”

“And are you saying that he murdered his entire clan as part of some sort of elaborate plot to escape this fine group you have got going here?” Did that sound as ridiculous as it was for him to say it? Even with the couple of additional ales that the pair had consumed over his meal, he was still pretty sure it sounded very far fetched. “You can’t honestly believe that.”

“His duty is here, to us. To Thedas. That is more important and yet, he still left me.”

“He left… you?” There was some sort of deep rooted issue here that was driving this attitude of hers and he had a very good idea of what that was. “You think this is the Warden all over again, don’t you?” The Grey Warden, the savior of Ferelden, their hero. An amazing, strong woman he had the pleasure of working under in more ways than one.

“It is _everything_ like her.” And he was not the only one. “She ran away for her own selfish reasons, just disappeared without letting any of us know. Not even a goodbye.”

“She had her reasons. It was not easy for her either.”  
“Bullshit! She ran away, ran away from everything instead of staying and working it out together. There was no consideration at all for _my_ feelings!”  
“Are you hearing the things coming out of your mouth? You are not the only one who loves her! You are not the only one that is suffering! I love her too you know so stop acting like you are the only one who is hurt!”

During their time together with the Warden, they both fell in love with her. Something that he was not looking to do or even wanted. Being in close proximity with a small group day in and out, you get to know each other quite intimately. In return, any emotions displayed get amplified. Anger is escalated tenfold when you are not able to step away and remove yourself. Or in his case, innocent flirting progressed to a flutter in his belly and a smile on his face whenever she walked by.

“She is trying to find a way for the two of you, not just you, other Wardens, to live a longer life with their loved ones.” He also fell into the trap that left him with a heavy heart. Not only was she flirting in return with him but she was also with Nightingale and in the end, she chose her, not him. “So how about you stop sulking about it, accept that your Inquisitor is not the same and treat his disappearance as a serious matter. That is unless you have feelings for him too and if that is the case, I would run away from you too. You are bitchy when you are angry.”

Awkward silence. Had he struck a nerve and was about go get a slap in retaliation or was the stick that was stuck up her ass finally coming out? A loud clearing of a throat from a manly voice broke the tension, both heads turning over to look. Oh my, my. Well hello there strappingly handsome man. Maybe there would be a chance of a night cap if he played his cards right and well, let's just say that there were not many who had not succumbed to his charms. Less than he could count on one hand so he was very assured the odds were going to be in his favour.

With a devilish smirk he acknowledged the tall, dark man, motioning his index finger towards him to invite him off the stairwell and into the room, closer. “Don’t just stand there. Come in and introduce yourself and help yourself to a dri-...”

“Dorian, spit it out and leave.”

She was such a buzzkill. Blah, blah, information relating to something about whatever it was they were doing there. A thick wad of folders dumped onto the tabletop on top of the other pile of that was accumulating. It was only a short conversation but Zevran would have gladly kept him around, even if it was for him just to talk. That voice could melt butter. He was certainly from up north somewhere. Everything about him oozed sophistication.

“If you have some time later and would want to get a drink together~” Zevran proposed with a wink but in return got a slap across the back of head in return.

“We have business to discuss,” reminded the advisor, noting that she had not forgotten why he was really there. “Oh and Dorian, the Quartermaster sent word that something had arrived for you. Be sure to see him soon to pick it up.” After the acknowledgement, all was quiet as the footsteps when down the staircase, nothing said until it was satisfied that he was well out of earshot. “Tell me what information you know.”

“Do you have a register of the dead found at Wycome?”

Without even so much as a returning question, the information of what he was seeking was produced out of the pile of paperwork, in front of him. All of the elves from the Lavellan clan were identified with names, descriptions and other identifying markers. A clear indication that they were keeping tabs on them for a long period of time to get that sort of information. Further through the pages he flicked, moving past the guards, the city elves and the towns folk that were caught in the collateral damage. Should have just skipped right to the back because there was what he was after, the unaffiliated deaths that the Inquisition scouts could not group into a category.

“Ding ding ding,” Zevran exclaimed, spinning the book around facing it back to the redhead. His index finger pointed to the description, accentuating the highlight. “We have a winner.”

Leliana scanned over the scribe, taking notes of the details. “Blonde, female, elf. Face suffered significant blunt force trauma. Okay, so what is her connection to the Inquisitor? It was assumed that she was an elf that escaped from the alienage only to be caught up in the battle. So you are saying something else?”

“Oh she is something much more than that.” A cocky grin spread across his lips. “She is an Antivan Crow. Not only that, she was a Crow that abandoned her contract to shadow your boy.”

She knew just as much as he did what it meant to walk away from a target. A Crow never abandons a contract until the mark is assassinated. By not fulfilling your duty, you pretty much signed off on your own death warrant. For someone to do that, the risk of not doing so much have been significantly greater. Something he was all too familiar with, after all, he had to sleep with one eye open and always be looking over his back.

“Do you know how long she has been following him?”

He had certainly captured her attention now. That brilliant mind would have been ticking over, trying to work out scenarios on how this occurred and how it was missed. Having a highly skilled member of the Antivan Crows tracking your steps for months while some say it was easy since they are the top assassins in the land, there was not much that the Spymaster did not know about. That was the troubling part. If she was going to stand a chance to piece the puzzle together, then there was one item that she may want to obtain.

Dipping his hand into the inside of his breast pocket, the elf produced a piece of hide and placed it onto the table on top of the journal. As she moved forward to reach for it, his hand held flat and firm on top, not allowing her to see it. “I need your assurance that if my problems, on the off-chance that they required some… assistance, that I can count on the support of your soldiers to help.” Just because they were old friends did not mean that it came for free. Gotta look out for number one after all.

Again he could see those wheels clicking over weighing up the pros and cons of what it would mean to them as a whole. Was the bounty, so to speak, on that adorable little Dalish boy’s head worth all the effort it was going to take to get him back? Was the destruction of the land really worth it? It was good to see that they were on the same page though, getting the agreement he so desired. Her word was as good as a contract so with a quick flash of a smile, the ex-Crow lifted his hand and allowed her to pick up the document.

A map. A standard map. Nothing too special about it. Locations pinpointed with a scribbled dot with what looked like gibberish and squiggles next to each one.

“I don’t get it.”  
“Lucky I am here to explain it to you.”

Many of the children that were brought up into the life of the Crows were illiterate. Most of the elves that came into the fold were taught how to use their bodies as a distraction, playing on the androgynous features to draw in the unsuspecting men and women. Giving them the capacity to read and write was not a priority. However, it was stupid to leave them without communication as there may be a time where passing along a message was required so they were taught the simple skill. Their own written code. Times, dates, locations, people, other information that would be relevant was coded into something that only another Crow would understand and that was exactly what he gave her. 

Her normal composure wavered, the slight shaking in her voice as it became apparent how long they had a spy following their every movement. “Every location, every single _fucking_ location dating back to Redcliffe.” And she was clueless to it happening. “How did you get this?”

“It took forever for your men to arrive so I aquired it from her directly for safe keeping.”  
“You stole it from her corpse. You took this from us knowing this could have been the key to fi-...”  
“Calm yourself down before you cause wrinkles to grow on that beautiful face. Without me, you could not have read it so you are welcome.”

“I want to know everything there is about her, now! You will not leave until you give me every last detail you know about her!”

\--------------------------

_How is she still alive?_

While he tried to replay the moment in his mind, his memory of what happened was shaky at best. Who hit who, what weapons were used. Sometimes he took a blade to her chest, sometimes to the stomach and at times, it missed and hit her in the arm. Did he spill her blood on him or did it soak into her clothes? He too had been injured during the scuffle but where had that been? Even the details of the rock that he took to her head and continued to relentlessly smashed into her face had become fragmented as the shards of bone he left in his wake.

_What if it was all in my mind..._

Maybe it never happened. Maybe she never existed to begin with. After their first encounter, there had been no evidence left behind making her seem nothing more than a hallucination brought on by a mixture of emotional trauma and alcohol. And this time? The shock of seeing everyone he has ever known to be brutally butchered sent him into a delusional state and the only way that he could compensate for it was to manifest it to this entity that he believed was following him. It could have been these mercenaries that were attacking him all along but instead, he wanted to find something familiar to blame. That someone was this woman.

_Am I starting to break?_

Leather restraints kept him immobile, vulnerable. Wrists, feet and one around his neck, all for the purpose of keeping him flat against the wooden bench with minimal room to move. A familiar position he found himself day in and day out. Kept in darkness, his eyes covered, no way to gauge how long he spent in their company before he is released and returned to his other place of confinement. The only way he could tell that they were in the room with him, besides the unspeakable torture that came along with it, was the way that the hair on the back of his neck stood on end whenever she was around. Something that has been missing for a period of time now.

Hands balled up tightly, pooling all the strength he could muster. Something had prevented them from returning and he would be an idiot to waste that opportunity. The edging of the restraints cut into his wrists, repetitively pulling and twisting to find a way free. All he needed was one hand. Just one of them to slip out of the cuff enough so he was able to remove the others. For once he wanted something to go his way. If he could get free, he could get his keeper and his brother and get out of there. Sure, he was weakened enough that he was in no shape to fight back but his training, this is where it would help him survive. Keeping to the shadows, slipping behind unnoticed. He could do it. He was sure he could do it. All he needed was that one chance to make it happen.

He could have jumped up, pumped a fist into the air and cheered as one of his wrists got the gap it needed to pull free. While he did not want to draw the attention to himself, the elf could not resist giving the air a slight fist bump celebrating his accomplishment. His legs buckled under the weight of his body, clambering quickly to grab onto the bench to stay upright. Shit, this might be harder than he thought. Still, nothing was going to stop him. Not even the fact that he was stark naked would do it. Pants can come later.

Slowly he moved through the complexed tunnels, one hand using the wall to steady himself. Every so often he would have to stop to catch his breath, resting his head just above his hand, closing his eyes. “Probably should have drew a map,” he mused aloud to himself, using that wit and humor to keep himself from breaking down. Something he was going to need as he opened his eyes up to another junction with multiple choices to taken. “Eenie, meenie, miney… ah fuck it, I’ll go to the right.”

Right, right again, straightforward, backtracking and then going left which lead him back to where he was just before. It was clear that he was not going to be able to find his way out fumbling in unknown territory. He was going to have to find something to use as marking. Leaving a breadcrumb trail. The best he could do under short notice was use a rock to scratch the surface, leaving a mark to tell him that he had already been there.

“Shit!” Not a single fucking difference. Every direction lead back to the same place. He turn the opposite and yet he’d return to that same room. Trapped, with not a single way out. “Damn it!” the young man cursed, slamming his fists down into the bench. It was all for nothing.

… And it was only going to get worse.

No approaching footsteps, not even the sound of breathing. Without indication he spun on the ball of his foot, using the momentum of his body to provide the power for the sideways fist. An attempt that was in vain, easily grabbed before it hit any part of his target. A grip, twist and stiff push pinned him straight down face first into the table. Through gritted teeth, Rilien spat insults through the struggle but he was easily overpowered.

“How are you still alive!?” he fruitlessly demanded, knowing very well she would not divulge. 

Legs flailed struggling to find release. Her skin was ice cold, wrapped around his throat, squeezing tighter. There was no breath against his neck as she leaned in to taunt him, relishing that next to her, he was nothing. It was like she was a ghost, a spirit, something that was not among the living. For all of the fight he was putting up in return, for just that brief moment he wished that he too could say that he wasn’t. To put a stop to everything, to make it go away. If only he stopped struggling and let her finish the job…

“Hey, hey! Breathe!”

A stiff slap to the face brought him back, Rilien’s lilac eyes shot open as he gasped for air. Every breathe burned like fire but he was going to take in whatever he could get, overloading his lungs until irritation causing coughing. The sudden jolts made his feet slip from out from underneath him, legs struggled to get back a stable footing, restrained by the wrists from above.

“W-What happened? What is going on?” And just like that, her face faded away, left only with subconscious scars.

“You tell me. You decided to stop breathing.”

Recollection of what just occured came flooding back as shocking as the slap he has just received. He thought that he could be free of this all in the depths of unconsciousness, not even his dreams were safe from her clutches. Just the two of them, nobody else. The feeling was much the same as if he was walking through the Fade, it seemed surreal but felt real. Pain inflicted in the this realm was nothing like he felt on the other side. Unconscionable, relentless and unlike the physical world, his body was not able to shut down. No natural defense was there to save you. Trapped inside of a nightmare with no chance to escape. Traumatic nightmares that involved the ones he loved that would wake him from his sleep now had been replaced. It was smothering.

Weathered hands surprisingly felt tender as that traced over his body, examining him. The young elf tried to stay still, letting him do whatever he wanted. “Hmm. Stay here and I’ll be right back.” Everyone that came near him in this godforsaken place had hurt him. 

Weakly, he gave a small chuckle. “You say that like I have a choice.”

Except for him. For some stupid reason, he wanted to allow himself to trust him. Everything inside of him told himself it was a foolish idea to seek comfort from anyone here. They were all mercenaries, hands for hire. Surely, he too would kill him without a blink of an eye if the price was right and yet, something inside of him wanted to say that he wouldn’t.

Eyelids lazily closed over, resting in wait for his return. Slowly he could feel himself drifting off again, the tense muscles relaxing. For only a moment's peace where he could sleep without those nightmares, if only…

His eyes opened again to the sounds of squabbling. Rilien tried to focus towards the entrance to his holding area but the light stung his eyes from the constant darkness he had been living in. Two voices were exchanging words, both of them were known to him. He could not clearly make out what they were talking about but he had a fair idea it was about him. Eventually the talking stopped, replaced with what sounded like a scuffle and then shortly thereafter, the man returned at his side.

“Took a bit to find what I needed,” the mercenary gave what could have been described as his own type of apology, holding up a bottle of clear liquid. “Care for a swig? It will help relax you.”

When he rejected the offer, the man chugged back some for himself, placed the bottle down on the ground. “Your keeper is doing a shit job in patching you up,” he scoffed, rolling up the scraps of what was his shirt and tucking it in on itself to expose his belly. “You are lucky that I am around to clean this up for you.”

Hissing was his response as the alcohol was poured onto his open wound, fists balling up tightly pressing his nails into his palm to suppress any attempts to whimper any further. Show no weakness, don’t let them see you breaking down. He had to be strong for Deshanna, for Daeron, for all of those in the Inquisition that needed him to return. “Deshanna did not do this. She does everything they ask of her. That… what did you call him? Cunt? I think I understand what that means now. He lets her in and this is what happens.” All of this pain he would continue to endure and he would overcome.

“…I don’t understand how she is alive,” the ailing redhead mumbled the question he asked inwardly. “I killed her. Her blood-… I don’t know how she survived.”

A chuckle of amusement but his focus was not waived, examining the needle he was about to thread. “You really don’t know? You are so naïve.” He was not going to give him a chance to justify, not that he was in the position to do it after the tip of the needle was heated on a candle and then pushed straight through two split flaps of skin. “She is dead and might I say, I thought I was callous but you, you are quite a piece of work. There was not much of that face left.”

“So if she is dead then that doesn’t answer how…” Another sharp inhale as the needle passed through a tender spot that still had not gone numb in shock.

“Cause she is a twin.”  
“What is that?”

First there was disbelief from the mercenary, wondering if he was playing stupid for some purpose unknown. When he was satisfied that he was legitimately unaware of what this was, he explained it to him. Sisters. Not siblings like Daeron and himself who were born years apart but ones that were born at the same time. Suddenly everything clicked and fell into place. That is why she spoke while the other one did not, while one attacked with physical weapons and the other one used magical abilities.

“She was there.That ghostly hallucination that lingered around her. She saw everything I done. I understand now. That woman that controls her, she is the only thing that is keeping her from killing me. Just like you. You are always here whenever I need someone even after-- he hit you before didn’t he? I heard him do it. You come here and you are not allowed to but you-- don’t let him touch my brother.” Thoughts were scattered, unable to pick one thing to focus on. Everything was shutting down again, his body taken to its limit. 

“You’re burning up,” the tattooed man exclaimed, feeling his temperature with the back of his hand. Forehead, cheek, neck, all the way down to the wound he had finished stitching up.

“Please stay with me. Dorian, please. Please don’t let me sleep.”

“Yeah sleep is bad. Don’t do that.” A few slaps around the cheeks wasn’t enough to rouse him awake again, head slumping down, chin against his chest. The ropes creaked with the motion of the swing that started as his body became dead weight.

A few colourful words were uttered. Nothing. A harder slap this time. Not even a grunt. Last option involved a stiff jab into the stitched up area but when that did nothing more than swung him around like strung up slaughtered boar, he knew that he was out for the count. Just to make sure he wasn’t on his way to whatever shitty afterlife there was, the man pressed his index and middle finger into his neck feeling if a pulse was present. His cheek hovered just next to his mouth, feeling for any puff of heat that may come out. Elves. Humans. Surely they shared the same internal organ structure to test for life.

“Oh good, not dead,” he grumbled with a roll of his eyes, unbelieving that he had to deal with this bullshit.

One last splash over the stitch site for good measure and sterilization, the rest of the bottle was consumed by himself, followed with a sigh and a click of his tongue. Not employed to be an emergency worker. Next thing he would probably find himself administering heart compressions and mouth-to-mouth instead of the syringe he filled with a concoction of herbs and other matters of alchemy that he just thumped into his thigh.

A sandwich, a brew and a warm bowl of stew later, the mercenary approached the slumbering elf. So adorable even when he was all bloody and beaten. Okay, that added more to the appeal. That resilience he showed, the constant defiance, he had seen many break under less conditions. How long would it take until he snapped? That is what he was waiting to see. Better yet, what would he do when it happened? There was a darkness there inside of him and if that Crow’s brutal death was anything to go by, then they would all be fucked.

His thumb pressed against the centre of the young man’s chapped, dry lips, the rest of his hand pistol gripped his jaw. “Hmm, feels like his temperature has dropped”, he noted as his index stroked his cheekbone. Pulling down on his thumb, he parted his lips and leaned into him. Faint taste of copper lingered on his lip, the uneven surface from where his teeth had been digging in. “Your temperature has certainly gone down,” he smirked, going in for a deeper one-sided kiss.

What he wasn’t expecting was parting lips in return, the unconscious aren’t one for responding like that. His chest heaved with deepened breathes, the soft sounds of whimpering gave him the explanation why. 

“Your crazy bitch is going to have to lay off him,” he huffed unsatisfied, pulling away from him. There is always something that has to break it up. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw the silhouette of a woman, lingering. “He won’t last if she keeps this up.”

She was not at all the type you would expect to see hauled up in a cave deep in wastelands. She would have been someone that he would have described as being on the arm of a very pompous, wealthy man. A trophy wife. Well rounded cheeks that narrowed down to a slim chin. Button nose that gave the illusion that she could have been called cute if it wasn’t for the sly stare her mossy green eyes. Even her current attire while appropriate for the climate, still screamed that she came from money. It was the small details. The patterns on the material of her teal dress, the stylish cut, short skirt, sleeveless shoulders. Underneath she wore a woolen grey sweater and leggings to provide warm in those cold nights but easily enough to adjust to the hotter days. The long cape she had wrapped around her shoulders in the similar grey, accentuated further with gold trimming, looked like it came from the closet of royalty. The one thing that made her very uniquely distinct was her hair. Late twenties, early thirties at the latest he would have guess her age was but yet her shoulder length wavy hair was a platinum silver. Only old women nearing their expiry date were coloured like this and yet, she looked to be in her prime.

“I don’t remember asking you for your input. In fact, I distinctly remember hiring The Reavers because I was told that you would do anything for a price, no questions asked.”

Every word out of her mouth, venomous. It carried that tone of superiority, she was the one that was above them and he was the lowly mercenary that was driven only by money. True, he was significantly motivated by money but he could not stand that holier-than-thou attitude.

“I don’t remember a dead elf being part of this package. Our instructions were clear, anything goes just as long as he does not die until Corypheus-...”  
“Corypheus? Who ever said that he was involved with this? Trying to restore Tevinter to some all-mighty power and ruling over Thedas is the most ludicrous goal have I ever heard of one. Next you will be accusing me of being one of those mindless lapdogs known as the Venatori.”

What they were told coming in verses to what she was saying was completely different things. He wanted to lash out against her, put her in her place but he was torn by a greater power. That being the pay cheque that was coming with this.

“If this is not some Venatori plot then what is it?” he asked biting his tongue, playing the compliant card.

With a smile, she aimed her staff towards the distressed elf and moments later, all was silent. “This is something much more personal,” she explained, continuing to smile passive-aggressively. “My assistant knows how far she can go and she knows the consequences if she goes against my words. You can consider this a night off.” She motioned her head in a quick nod towards Rilien. “Go back to molesting him if you wish. Come morning, I expect you to _never_ question anything that happens here again. If it does, I am sure at the right price, two qunari would be more than willing to tear you apart, limb by limb.”

It was not often that it happened but he was shocked beyond words. Everything about this woman did not sit right with him, his gut feeling was telling him to get the fuck out of there. Who the hell was she? What was this personal bullshit she was speaking of? Oh, he would play along for now but he would get to the bottom of this. Mark his words.


	15. Chapter 15

“Something is missing but what?”

Over seven day and nights had passed since had any real sleep, only taking short naps when the fatigue became too much. Just like everyone else, he had been working around the clock to find where their missing leader was. Dead ends, false leads. There had been no breakthrough. All they were doing was wasting time. Which is why he had abandoned the futile mission of troweling through information to pursue something that could save them the precious thing they did not have. Time.

While the world of Thedas did not know the concept of seconds, minutes or hours, Dorian knew that the time travelling between each location was costing them dearly. That is why he was there. For the past two day cycles, he had been working relentlessly, trying to get that mysterious elven artifact they had found, active.

“It is a device of my people. Clearly no amount of vile Tevinter magic will ever get it to respond. Not in the past. Not now.”  
“Oh so they are _your_ people now? Funny they are only _your_ people when it is a convenience to you.”

Sadly, Solas had been accompanying him for that long as well since he refused to allow the mage access to the eluvian on his own. Cause you know, he would do all of his dastardly magister evil to it and use the device for the purposes of world domination. He could have done that already. He did after all, help create the time travelling magic that his old mentor, Alexius, used. Truthfully, he had thought about trying to replicate that once again but after seeing that fate of that future, he could not take that risk. It was true that magic was capable of harm, he would never deny that fact. It wasn’t the fault of the magic, it was of that who wield it.

“If you are trying to insinuate that there is some element that only allows elven interaction to get it to activate then how about you try and do something to help?”

They had both witnessed it with their own eyes, the mirror reacting in the presence of the Inquisitor. He glowed green, the mysterious doorway to the unknown started to react. It was hard to tell if it was the anchor that caused the reaction alone or if it was mixed with the elven bloodline. It would greatly help if the damn bald-headed douchebag would come over, slap a hand against it and give it whatever biological element it required to activate.

“...Please.”

His sullen plea was proof that he was on the path of despair. He wanted Rilien back.

“Leave it with me,” Solas compromised but not promising anything. “Believe me when I say that I understand your frustration. I have been with the Herald since the beginning but the power of this device only stands to be abused. If he got into the wrong hands like your-...”

“Like myself? The Venatori? Vints in general? How about we move it down to all magic users.” Dorian could see why the poor Dalish was constantly getting frustrated with him. Clearly he had no trust for anyone, anyone living that is. He had more faith in those spirits roaming around in and out of the Fade than he did for the living. “If anyone should not be trusted it’s you.”

Not saying that he was intuitive at all but there was just this vibe that came from the hedge mage. As he said, he was there at the beginning when the mark was left on the Inquisitor. He knew about the artifacts that they were searching for that helped to slow down the tear that was the breach. Knowledgeable, yes but no one asked the question, how? The rest of them were struggling to bring anything to the party when it came to this mark, the breach, the extent of Corypheus’s powers and what exactly he was after but Solas, he always seemed to know when it was required.

But dammit, this is not the time to dig into it. If they were going to get anywhere, he was going to bite his tongue as much as that was going to sting. “I get it but have some trust in _us_. We are all working together for the same goal.” So keep your grumpy xenophobia to yourself and just fix the fucking thing!

Again, he got another open commitment without a promise to do it. The mage was going to have to accept it. There was somewhere else he needed to be anyway so he was not going to be there to police him. “Just do what you can. I place all of my faith in you.” 

You see Solas, this is what trust is. He was willing to trust him not to smash the mirror into pieces in order to protect whatever laid on other side.

“Sweet Maker, you are looking like death warmed up.”

That was certainly an interesting way to be described. The things that these southerners came up with. “Commander, I am not too sure how many death people you have seen or be near but I can certainly say, they are not at all warm. They tend to be very cold and stiff. Release their bowel too.”

“I can always trust you to paint a colourful picture Dorian. Thank you for that,” Cullen forcibly smiled to hide the disgust. Instead of explaining what the idiom meant, he pulled out a bottle filled with a deep plum coloured wine and placed it down onto the table. “Nevarra’s best or so I am told.”

Dorian would certainly be the judge of that. Anyone could take a bottle and dip it into the heated wax and pass it off as one of the best that Nevarra had to offer. To truly be the best, you had to know what to look for. “Where did you get it from exactly?” he asked casually, bringing the neck of the bottle closer to his eye, closing the other to thoroughly examine.

“Cumberland. They said it was fit for Duke Sandral Anaxas, himself.” While one was busy with the wine, the other removed the kettle from over the fire and poured himself a piping hot cup of tea. “The man I brought it from told quite an interesting tale about a woman. Her name was Tessa Forsythia. Nobility of the land.”

Satisfied that the ruby red wax was legitimately the seal of their finest, Dorian twisted the top and broke the seal. Taking a glass, he poured himself his poison of choice. “That is all very interesting Cullen but I fail to see how someone with a silver spoon in their mouth could possibly be of any interest,” snorted the man with a roll of his eyes. He swirled the liquid a couple of times before taking in the aroma. Truthfully, with the way he was feeling, it could have been the cheapest of stock from the dingiest of holes and he would have gladly downed it regardless. Poor, bitter wine. The bottle has become his support, the edge to see him through the day. 

“Ye of little faith,” grinned the man, taking his seat across from the other. Leaning in closer, his voice dropped to just above a whisper. “For this tale was one involving a young elf that had moved into the region from the Free Marches, that had been captured and exploited. Tessa was rumoured to have helped free him, for reasons no one could be sure but she seemed to have developed a soft spot for helping slaves.”

“There are slaves around every corner in the North. Two dozen for a gold piece. What makes you think that this one would even remotely be the one that we are searching for?” He had a right to be skeptical. They were looking for a needle in a haystack.

“Recently that very same elf contacted that young noblewoman, who mind you, is not very noble at all, and asked for assistance. The fastest route possible to Wycome.”

He couldn’t believe it. Maybe he just did not want to. After following false lead after false lead, having people trudge the countryside trying to dig up any little piece of dirt that could lead to this mysterious brother that the Inquisitor had been hiding. Which could lead to him. “We can’t keep running around on this wild goose chase like this. It was bad enough the run around that Crow put us on but now this?”

“I know which is why I have sent out one of our rogues to seek her out. One of Leilana’s named Charter.”

“We said that we were going to keep this one between ourselves. Cullen, this is not the time to be placing mislead trust in others.” The glass in his hand was replaced unconsciously with the entire bottle, forgetting the point of it being an accompaniment of sorts, turning it back into the crutch he needed. “We can’t keep going on these wild goose chases. How long has it been now? How long until those people out there let go of the hope of finding him alive and everything that the Inquisitor stood to protect is gone?” It was a subject that they had been tiptoeing around. If it wasn’t for that damn breach being still up in the sky and not engulfing them all, majority would have said that he was dead already. Not that he doubted that firecrackers will to survive and push on, it was just he saw that aftermath. These were not people who would sit him down and make sure he was treated to a spot of tea and biscuits. 

“What if I said that there was a way we could move around faster?” So he promised he would not disclose it or bring it near people, use it for evil doings at all of that but right now, he was desperate. If he could sell the idea to the Commander, then he could rally some extra support. Use some of the mages he had entrusted to do some investigation into it without disclosing too much. Shit, right now he would take an elf dancing in front of it to try and make its voodoo work right now. Anything was better than this. “There is a-...”

“If you are talking about that contraption that the witch brought into Skyhold, then the answer is absolutely no.”

Dorian’s retaliation speak did not even get a couple of words out before he stopped, his jaw mentally dropping. He did not even have to ask for further clarification as the blonde spouted out about how he told the rest of the council that having that mirror there was compromising their safety. A doorway to the Well of Sorrows. If they could go through it then certainly something could come out and therefore, it was a big fat no from him. So there was two eluvians. Brilliant!

“Oh yes, completely understand. Scary doorways. So who is this witch?” the mage asked with a gleam in his eye.

“If you are going to set about calling me a witch, then you better be referring to my full title as one of the Witch of the Wilds and not in that derogatory tone you just used.”

Already in her presence for only a few moments and he already hit a tender spot. Already on broken glass, it was hard for him to approach knowing that she had come from an uncivilized background, an apostate. People like her, like Solas, they were dangerous. Left to their own devices to learn their craft, resorting to the ways of the maleficar. Too weak to hone their craft and look for the easy way out. That easy way destroyed lives. Now, he had to try and push all that down into his gut and give a conceited smile, something he had a lot of practice with over his life at least.

“Morrigan, I mean and my apologies for upsetting you. I was merely asking for you in the manner that you were introduced to me.” That’s it Cullen, you are taking the rap for this one. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Dorian Pavus of House-...”

“You are the boy that daddy did not approve of his lifestyle and wanted that part of him eradicated,” Morrigan shot back, instantly silencing him. From the clenching of his fist and teeth, it was confirmed she hit the nerve dead on. “You are not as charming and handsome as you think yourself to be.”

Keep smiling, just keep smiling. Keep biting that quick witted tongue that was begging to spit out a nasty retort of its own. Just grit down and bear it because there was something more important than all of them at stake. “Note taken. I’m not here to make friends with you, I am here because our Inquisitor is missing… and I want to know more about your eluvian.”

Hi, I am a dastardly magister that nobody trusts but can I see your magical mirror that has the power to move great distances in short time? Don’t worry that I just insulted you because deep down you want to trust and help. Yeah right, like it was going to work but right now, it had to. If this didn’t work then-...

“How about I show it to you?”

… And that he was not expecting. He almost thought as questioning it as some sort of joke, only that he soon found himself standing in front of a grand mirror, much different from the one that he has. Each one of them was crafted differently, reflecting the personality of those who were the builder. While his was more earthy and natural, this one was dark and twisted. Something that slip right into the decor of a magister’s home with ease. It had that gloomy architecture that all Tevinters seemed to love.

Just like the other one, this one too wasn’t responding. He tried standing in front of him with only the nature magical flow this his body to try and activate it. When that failed, he tried to amp it up, still with the less than spectacular results. So clearly it wasn’t his eluvian that was broken, it was him.

“Simply commanding it will not get you anywhere.” Her hand raised and pushed against the surface. The once solid mass rippled under her fingers, brighter than the dull reflection that it has been just before. “It takes a special kind to activate it. No common mage will ever possess the power.”

Would that mean that he could not walk through it? If he tried, would it become a solid mass once again or worse, get himself trapped halfway in if he decided to walk through? Dorian was not going to take that chance without testing the waters, pushing his hand past the point of no return.

“Hmm, it is much colder than I expected it to be,” he noted, looking over the other, almost for permission to continue. He wanted to go in. The suspense of what was on the other side was killing him. He needed to know if this was the key to finding their Inquisitor. That permission was given as Morrigan walked through first with Dorian quickly following behind.

Passing through was the oddest feeling, like his body was plunged into an ice bath and held under. A chill that went right down to the core. Coming out the other side was not any better. The shivering had stopped but he could have sworn so had his heart. Placing his hand against his chest, he felt for the faithful thump. Nothing. Not even the rising and falling of his chest. It was almost like he was dead.

“You are now in the Crossroads. This is not of the realm of life nor is it of the Fade. This is something that is caught in-between.”

A world between? How could something like this have ever existed? What kind of magic would have been used to forge this world, that could split the two realms to create this? And to keep it hidden for so long. He couldn’t say that he was surprised that his people were trying to replicate the doorways. If they only discovered what was on the other side, he could say that there would have been many that would have tried to manipulate this between world for nefarious benefits.

“It is not much to look at, that is for sure.” 

Grey, so much grey. Almost everything as far as he could see was a shade of the bland hue. A treeline adorned to either side of them and yet they were all skeletal, not a single leaf on them. Life had been sucked dry from this place, presumably from the years of neglect.

“This world was not meant for you and I, built for the ancient elves, for their use. Not that I have much to compare it against but I have heard to elven eyes, this land is warm, beautiful and vibrant.”

Vibrant? Beautiful? Clearly these elves must have been distantly related to those in Tevinter. Even if the witch was correct and the elves saw things in a much more of an upbeat manner, there was no way any rose coloured shades could mask the eyesore of the fields of stripweed down the bottom of the cliff. He could feel himself breaking out into hives just from looking at it.

“You said a special kind of mage is only able to control the mirrors,” Dorian recalled, breaking away from the field of prickly bushes to stand by one of the nearby eluvians. For something that could have been down there for centuries without being touched, there was not a single layer of dust over it, not even a cobweb. The airless state of the surrounding lands had kept it in pristine condition, minus the fact that someone had trashed it. Shards of glass on the ground, the main structure fractured straight across the middle. Unless the elves became as large and strong as qunaris then it was something with magic that inflicted that type of centralized damage. “I must know how to do it.” Showing was not enough. He wanted to be told. He _needed_ to know how and there was no way that he was going to accept that he was brought here for the teaser.

Morrigan lent over and picked up one of the fragments of glass from the ground, keeping her eye on him the entire time. The assumption was made that she was watching for his reaction, trying to suss him out if she should proceed or not.

“Whenever you cast your magic, you touch the Fade. That crackle, the spark, the energy you feel is the tiny tears in the veil that is between you and what lies beyond. What we have here is a place that not quite at the Fade and yet not quite reality. If you draw on your magic, you will bypass it and go straight the end but there is a way that you can stop that from happening. A method that will prohibit you from touching the Fade.”

Taking one step in, Morrigan bridged the gap between them. There was no time for him to react from her grabbing him around the wrist, flipping his palm upwards and swiping the edge of the glass down across his raised muscle. Dorian winced and instinctively went to clench his fist, pull it away from her but she was stronger than she looked, holding him firmly in place. “This is the only way you can make that happen. Only those strong enough to wield this power can control the eluvians.”

“Blood magic!?” the bronzed man spat back, attempting to pull his hand away. “Absolutely not!”

“And why not? There is no harm if done correctly. As long as you don’t become addicted to the power, crave for more that what you are given. There is something enticing about the dark side of it, don’t you agree? Secretive. Dangerous. I think you know what that is like.”

Still with his hand secured, the witch turned her head and motioned towards the mirror. The fractured reflection started to come to life. Not as brilliantly bright as what happened when Rilien was around nor as predominant as what they had not long ago stepped through but enough to be noticeable. Even with its destroyed state, she was able to pull enough power to get it to work. Power… that was not her power. She was using _his_ blood to fuel it.

“The secret you keep from everyone around you every single day. Not even giving them a sneak peek at what you are capable of. The true extent of your powers unbeknownst.”

There was rumors, whispered gossip, about those who used blood magic. Various things had been said over the years. Inheriting thoughts, memories, strength, things such as this from your victim which in return leaves you craving for more which started people’s downward spiral. Dorian was not one to buy into that clishmaclaver without some sort of hard evidence but there is one thing that was apparent. She was completely right.

“Being able to throw a fireball is enough to make them hate you. Anything else and they will burn you at the stake.” He wasn’t going to confirm or deny it because he can sense that her power is certainly in a league of its own as well. Probably from the blood magic but she too seems to have a hidden strength there.

“So why should you have to hide who you are?” Morrigan pressed on, playing the double entendre. “Look what good it has done for you. You should not have to spend your time hiding in fear when you could stand up. Be stronger!”

But what if? What if he look this offer? This was what he needed to get that eluvian working. The key that he believed was required to find the Herald, to stop wasting the time in traversing the countryside, fast tracking closer to location and still be there in time to have lunch. There was nothing to say that he had to use it all the time. Just a taste, enough to get by and then when the objective was achieved then he would not use it again. Except that was how it started. You got that taste, the sweetness just touching the tip of your tongue and then it was taken away. It leaves you craving. So you go back in for a second taste, then a third and then before you know it, you are hooked. Addicted to the power. The rush of feeling alive while you are slowly draining someone of their life. He knew already what it was like to manipulate a human life, using it for your own purpose and then pull it away from them. Dorian was already walking a thin line with that, already force feeding himself lies to quell any guilt trip that may arise. They were near on dead already. So if something was to go wrong, if he was to take a life…

A sharp hiss escaped from his lips between gritted teeth as his hand was squeezed, drawing his eyes down to the greater flow trickling out of his open wound. “Do you want to save your friend or not? Or should we stop beating around the bush here and say that he is the one you love.”

Save the one he loved? All he seemed to do was destroy those he truly cared about. Maybe if he had been stronger in the first place then he could have stopped Alexius before he became corrupted by the ideals of the Venatori. He would not have sabotaged things between himself and Rilien, afraid that he would have a repeat of what happened with Rili-... no. He could not bear to even think his name. The consequences from each of them weighed down heavily against him, if only he could have done something. If he had the chance to go back and stop it before it happened. Right now he was presented with that option, the second chance! This could be his time for redemption, to make it right. If he could at least save one life, then he should take it!

“No,” the brunette finally answered, pulling his hand back without any real resistance. “I will not give into the temptation because I _am_ strong. I have made a lot of mistakes in my life but I will not resort to the easy way out.” Clench tightly, Dorian continued to squeeze, digging his fingers feeling the warmth of the blood dripping between. “No matter what the cost.” The resort of a weak mind, that was what he was taught. Just because his father turned against that, he would remain true to how he was raised. “I will find another way.”

Even if that meant that he would lose another that he cared about.

“Pavus! I do not know what business you think I run but it damn well sure is not a storage facility!”

Glancing up from his glass of red to the equally hue man angrily growling at him, Dorian gave a huff of disapproval. After the day that he had, he wanted to come down to the Herald's Rest to sull into the bottle, not be accosted by the quartermaster.

“Eustace, while I would love nothing more to cause you grief after you weaseled five crates of the best produce this side of Orlais and squandered them like mere table scraps, I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“The package that came in for you,” the quartermaster gave the reminder, pulling the glass out of the man’s hand. “And I want it gone.”

“Package, package…? Not ringing any bells.” And he will also take that glass back, thank you. Do not get between a man and his beverage. “You are going to need to be more specific.”

He was not given any further explanation about it, left only with the threat that it would be open and sold on to another party in the morning, the quartermaster pocketing the profits himself if he did not pick it up. If that was the case, he would make sure that he would not turn a profit off him and made the decision to go and pick up this awaiting package. Come to think about it, he vaguely remember something about Leilana telling him in passing that something had arrived. Just that he got so caught up in everything else around him, all the commotion that had been of late, that he had forgotten to go and get it. 

Begrudgingly without a drink in hand, Dorian left the tavern and walked across the way to the quartermaster’s storage rooms which was really one of the holding cells under the main castle that had been re-purposed. Screams came at him from every direction as he walked through the dimly lit path from those met the unfortunately judgement of the Inquisitor, pleading to be released with the promise to never do no harm again. At the beginning, he has been kind, allowing people to atone by putting their skills to good use and work for the Inquisition. Not everyone was happy with the outcome. Some wished for them to be locked away and others wanted him to be punished. Rilien was too much of a good natured soul to do that but peer pressure and the endless battle he went through to try and keep everyone happy won, resulting in the filling dungeon. They really did ask much of him, too much. He hoped that in return, the rest of them realised that... because he was about to.

Sturdy fingers dug in deeper into his hips, struggling to maintain grip as the pace picked up. Beads of sweat trickled down his backside, short lived as they splattered with the heavy handed slapping of flesh against flesh. Shallow panting mixed between the groans of desire with the occasional cursive thrown in without a care in the world of anyone in the nearby vicinity. He wanted this, no, _needed_ this. He needed to shut his mind off to everything, to be only able to focus on the carnal pleasure between two people. Desperate to get that release, one hand snaked under his belly and between his legs, pumping himself faster than what was dictated behind him. His heartbeat pounded heavily becoming the only thing that he could hear, his dark eyes squeezed shut, focused on that need for gratification. The strong grip on him intensely tightened for those last couple of thrusts, the throaty howl signifying that the other was done. And yet, he was not. 

Faster he worked himself, the skillful hand that has made many weak at the knees after release, frantically searching for his own. It seemed almost never ending, unable to reach the desired goal. He needed to focus, change that train of thought and that was when he thought of him. Skin tan like fine whiskey, cheekbones shaded, lips curl when he smiles. How he longed to share an intimate moment like this with him. Feel the moistness of his lips against his, the heat between as he rocked against each other. All he wanted was the chance to say that he wanted to be with him, to hell with all of the taboos surrounding the relationship. He was the first person he truly wanted to open himself up to and give himself one hundred percent, fuck the repercussions and yet, he waited too long. Just like him. This could not be happening again…

“I can’t believe it took you that long to finish up.”

And that was all that was needed, finally his midsection spasmed, covering his hand and surrounding with the thick stream of his essence. Short of breath, slightly dazed, his head cocked to the side to the view of his sexual partner stretched out in the bed, making himself at home. Rightfully so, it was his room.

“I’m going to take that as an insult.”

“You should,” Dorian retorted, flopping down boneless, face smothered into the pillow. “That was absolutely terrible.”

He wanted to just lay there, bask in the afterglow. All he was experiencing was the sinking feeling in his gut, the weight of what he needed to do bearing down on him.

“Kadan, give me a chance to get some stamina back then and then I will make sure you set the entire bed on fire from it being fucked _that_ hard.”  
“I think your head is swelling bigger than your dick ever could,” the bronzed man once again shot back to bruise the ego.

He hated it when he called him ‘kadan’ and even though he had corrected him time and time again, still he did it. Although Bull would never have openly admit it, he knew that he had developed feelings for him. This was more than just friends with benefits.

Sitting himself up and swinging his legs over the bed, leaning over rubbing his fingers over his short, shaved sides. He had to think. There had to be some sort of way to break it to him gently. It was never his intent to hurt or destroy the man...

“Seriously, stay the night. I know you said that you don’t like to shit where you sleep or something to that effect...” And then he was there, kissing along his shoulder, up to his neck.

...Shit, this was going to suck.

“We are through. This is no more.”


End file.
